The Legacy
by Project Clu-Clu
Summary: "And I hope she'll be a fool - that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool." - F. Scott Fitzgerald -
1. Venus

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

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Chapter One: Venus

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No one knew her past.

They whispered about her, making up fantastical stories to fill up the gap in her biography. They spun wonderful yarns of fallen nobility, of shady strip clubs, of nightclubs where secrets hid in between the nonexistent gaps between the bodies grinding against each other.

Some went as far as claiming that even her husband only knew part of her history, and not all of it.

They didn't know her past.

No one truly did.

But they all knew one thing.

That she was beautiful.

A lady of elegance, they would murmur. A vision of Venus, of Aphrodite herself, they would silently speculate.

Every woman who saw her wished that they were her, the woman with the exquisite and silky emerald hair, the woman with the lustrous eyelashes and clever golden eyes. And every man who met her desired her for his own, to hold her slender frame, to touch her soft alabaster kin, to kiss her wickedly tantalizing lips.

But only one man could have her.

Oh yes, she was a married woman. Four years ago, she had accepted his proposal, and four years ago, the beauty queen had given herself to one incredibly fortunate man.

Her husband… Oh, her husband.

He was handsome, and tall.

Clever, intelligent, cultured.

He was polite and respectful.

He was powerful and wealthy beyond measure.

He was Schneizel el Britannia.

C.C. was in her lavish boudoir, swathed in a dark magenta dress that had originated from some French designer's mind whose name she had forgotten nor particularly cared about… It was so difficult to keep track of all of their names as they rushed to her; Louis Vuitton, Yves Saint Laurent, Christian Dior, Chanel… Too many of them clung too closely to her, as they begged for her to be their patron and their patron only. A pity they were completely oblivious to her traitorous past.

Once she was satisfied with her appearance, the emerald-haired woman rose from her seat and left the opulent bedroom to glide down the sweeping staircase of the Schachmatt.

Her castle.

Her home.

She spied her husband, wearing a tailored dove-grey suit, waiting for her at the bottom with an obligatory compliment waiting on his lips, and, in response, she silently and discreetly reconstructed her face so that it would give off the impression of affableness. As she took the arm he offered her, he smiled, "You look stunning."

Her only reaction was the slightest of curves of her lips, and they stepped out into the cool autumn evening.

Her spouse held the door of the car open for her, waving aside the chauffeur before climbing in on the other side himself. As the sleek sedan pulled out of the driveway and passed through the iron wrought gates guarding the fortress, Schneizel sociably asked, "Did you purchase that particular dress during your last excursion to Paris?"

"Milan."

"Ah, Milan… A lovely place, with wonderful weather. Would you like to go to Florence next?"

"Perhaps," she intoned passively. As neither was much up to continuing their little façade of happy man and wife, the remainder of the journey was made in silence, with wife studying the blurred landscape rushing by and husband reading over one of the innumerable proposals or reports that were sent to him.

It wasn't until the car was pulling up to the front entrance of a luxurious hotel, when she voluntarily spoke to him for the first time that day.

"Is this for business or pleasure?"

"I thought you would be more comfortable by easing in, instead of jumping in. You'll be meeting an important figure in the Weiss Ritter this evening. Please do behave, Cecaniah. I would hate to have the two of you start off on the wrong foot, especially since you'll be interacting with him on a close level."

She gave no reply as they cut through the glamorous lobby and entered the dimly-lit five-star fine-dining restaurant. The maître d'hôtel greeted them with a wide smile and a subtle Mediterranean accent before leading them to their private dining hall.

C.C. saw a young man rising from his seat when she and her husband entered the room. Dressed all in black, from his hair to his dress shirt to his pants, he was a stark contrast to Schneizel, who was completely garbed in light colored satin.

As she came to stand across from him, she realized just how stiff and tense she was; but of course she was stiff and tense. After all, her past had finally caught up with her; who wouldn't be put on edge by the twist of fate?

"Mrs. Corabelle. What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"This is Lelouch Lamperouge, Cecaniah," introduced Schneizel. "The newly instated capobastone of the Weiss Ritter."

"I see," she curtly said. Taking a seat directly across from him, the last man on Earth she wished to see, she brazenly stared at him. Noticing, he raised a brow and politely questioned, "Is there something I can help you with?"

She only looked away, turning to scrutinize the ice floating in her glass of water. She knew that he was smiling, that his eyes were focused on her with amusement, but she didn't care. Nor did she really care to know anything about him. He was just another fool who had joined the underground world because of who-knows-why, probably because of money, or power, or just the thrill of the kill. Well, whatever reason it was, she couldn't care any less about him; he'd disappear, vanish, in a matter of weeks, months if need be, withering from either drug abuse or writhing from bullet wounds. Either way, it didn't matter to her. In fact, nothing really mattered to her. Not even the well-being of her spouse.

Least of all the well-being of her spouse.

Bored with the ice, she allowed her eyes wander. Not that there was much to look at. The sparkling silverware? As if she didn't have drawers of sterling silver knives and spoons at home. The crystal wineglasses? Laughable; she had goblets made of diamond in her cabinets, what need did she have of crystal?

The dinner was going to drag on for an eternity.

For a goddamn eternity.

And the last time C.C. had checked, she wasn't an immortal being.

Perhaps she could fake an emergency? Say that one of her 'friends' urgently needed her help with something, something that only women would understand, like… Like… Oh, like picking out a dress for a date. Ah, yes, that was it. Schneizel wouldn't question her, wouldn't try to prevent her from leaving. After all, _he_ was the one who encouraged her to reach out and make friends, not enemies.

And if he didn't, then she could just pretend she had menstruation cramps, something he _really_ had to let her go home for. Ah, that was the perfect plan. She was ingenious for…

Dark violet irises flickered up to her from above his menu and across the chinaware. They made eye contact, and he locked her in with an unsmiling, cold gaze full of calculating determination.

It caught her off-guard; it was so familiar, the way he was fearlessly staring at her.

She had seen that light somewhere before, that frosty glare.

That stubborn light, that glint that told her that he was willing to do anything to get what he wanted, no matter who or what stood in his way.

Where had she…?

Ah, that was right.

In her own eyes. In her own reflection, she had seen those cool and emotional eyes that were blatantly staring back at her.

Damn it all.

C.C. eventually broke the spell, telling the waiter that she desired to be surprised and wanted the chef de cuisine to select her dinner course for her. When he gave a small bow and swiftly exited the room to deliver their orders to the bustling kitchen, Schneizel beckoned for Lelouch's attention, and, much to her relief, the two men began to converse.

For the rest of the dinner, she refused to meet the raven-haired man's gaze again. She was finished with him for the evening, if not for the rest of her life.

When the dinner plates had been cleared away, and the fine china tea set had returned to the kitchen, the trio finally rose to leave the suffocating prison she had been forced into. Or, they were _about_ to leave the suffocating prison she had been forced into, when a ringing sound resounded throughout the well-furnished room.

She watched silently as her husband answered the urgent phone call, traded a few tense words, before replacing his cell-phone in his pocket. Turning to her, he tersely explained, "A development was made downtown."

"I can go home by myself," she said, just like the dutiful wife she was.

"Lelouch, I want you to escort Cecaniah home."

"Schneizel, I can-" she protested, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. Delicately tilting her chin up, he told her how dangerous it was for her to travel alone, especially with her new status as his beloved wife.

She could feel his eyes burning into her.

His cold, hard, violet eyes.

Turning away from her husband, she muttered something about understanding why he wished for her to be accompanied by the young man.

But did she truly? Did she truly see why she had to be escorted by him?

No, of course she didn't.

Or, even if she did, she turned a blind eye to his reasoning. After all, she turned a blind eye to things that hurt her, that pained her, that brought up unnecessary and unwanted memories.

That made the wall she had built up splinter.

Oh, she didn't show it. A hard life had been a harsh mentor, and an unforgiving one, and she hadn't forgotten her lessons. With an impassive expression, she brushed by the two… The two _traitors_, the two _conspirators_, wanting nothing more than to return to her sanctuary.

Wanting nothing more than to hide from those cold, hard violet eyes.

Those beautiful violet eyes.

. . .

There was a palpable silence broken by nothing but the gentle purring of the engine of the sports car.

No music, no conversation, no nothing.

Just the purring of the engine to fill the abyss between man and woman.

C.C. noted how new the car was, and how luxurious. Laughable, really, considering how less than a decade ago, the only way either of them could have been sitting in a car of this quality was in their dreams. It would be stupid to pretend that everything was the same and that they would get along well. Because they weren't going to, and they both knew it.

They had dresses and suits, luxury cars to drive after fine dining at five-star restaurants, but not the luxury of being strangers.

"Do you even know where the Schachmatt is?" The question came out more scathing and hostile than she had intended, but it was already too late. It was already out there, and he had already received it. She saw his hand tighten ever so slightly on the steering wheel, and she concentrated on it. She concentrated on his hand, and not his face. Not his eyes.

Never his eyes.

"I never knew your opinion of me was so low."

"You-"

"Do you really think that I'd agree to take you home if I didn't know where it was?"

She scoffed.

"It's not as if you haven't done-"

"Oh? I thought we had decided not to bring up the past, what with that black look you were giving me. That is, when you cared enough to look at me," he muttered.

"… Why are you here, Lelouch?"

"Would you rather I not be here?"

"Yes, I would very much rather that you not be here. I-"

"Why? Is it making you uncomfortable? Is the fact that you just disappeared on me all of those years ago eating at you, now that I'm here?" he spat. "Is it, C2?"

"Stop fabricating the past to suit your needs. I didn't disappear on you, and you know it. I left you a-"

The car came to a screeching halt on the winding mountain road, and he turned towards her so that she was forced to meet his smoldering glare.

"We promised each other that we would-"

"What we promised each other," she calmly countered, "was inevitable death and starvation. I'm sorry, Lelouch, if my decision to keep living bothers you and broke your heart, but I did what every sensible person would have done."

He was silent. Speechless? No, not speechless. He was never speechless. Ah, that was it; he was chewing through her words, mulling over them. She could positively see the gears turning in his head as he turned her argument over and over in his head.

Now he was giving her the strangest expression, as if she had just struck him across the face. C.C. suddenly wanted to apologize to him, to tell him that she hadn't really meant the daggers she had thrown at him… But what good what that do? It wouldn't, at all. So, she simply allowed for the full consequences of her actions to unfold.

He sat back in his seat slowly before opening the center console that was acting as a barrier between the two. Much to her surprise, she watched him pull out a pack of cigarettes.

"Oh, that's just classy," she said sarcastically. He only eyed her wearily as he lit a smoke.

"Take me home, Lelouch," she demanded. He only continued to draw on the cigarette before sending a cloud of smoke outside and starting the inhale-exhale process all over again.

"Lelouch, take me home."

Inhale. Exhale.

"Have you turned deaf over the years? I want to-"

"I don't want to hear your voice for the rest of the car ride," he threatened in a low voice. "Or I'm just going to drive the both of us off a cliff."

She held her tongue. Not because she was intimidated or scared. It was just that… The realization that the Lelouch Lamperouge sitting besides her smoking wasn't the Lelouch Lamperouge she had left four years ago.

Perhaps they did have the luxury of being strangers.

When the smoke was almost nothing but a burning stub in his fingers, he tossed it out of the open window before starting the engine again. As gravel crunched under the wheels of the car, C.C. glanced at the glowing digital clock on the dashboard.

She had spent exactly 2 hours and 43 minutes in his company.

It had been the most painful 2 hours and 43 minutes of her life.

By far.

And she was sure she wasn't alone in thinking that she could have used those 2 hours and 43 minutes for something better, something that didn't leave the wedding ring on her finger feel so heavy, something that didn't make her remember things she didn't want to. Something that wouldn't make her want to break all of her rules and reach over to kiss him. Something safe.

What she needed was another lesson from life. That there was a difference between things that she wanted and things she needed. That there was always a price to pay for things she wanted, a painful price.

May the heavens have mercy on her poor, battered soul.

. . .

By the time they had passed through the gates of the Schachmatt, they had both managed to glue the shards of their fragile masks together again.

C.C. sat silently, as Lelouch opened the car door for her. He offered her his hand, which she declined. Gripping her leather clutch with trembling hands, she flashed him a small smile that came out all twisted and grim, before turning to go up the steps of the mansion, when he grabbed her wrist.

"… It was a pleasure seeing you."

Good. They were going to act as if nothing had happened, as if they both hadn't let their masks slip. It was for the best anyways; she was a married woman, and anything that had happened between her and him was in the past and should be forgotten, should never be…

He bent down to kiss her hand, cradling her small hand in his own.

Just like he used to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Corabelle."

"… Mr. Lamperouge."

She didn't look back. She told herself not to, that looking back was something she had promised herself she wouldn't do when she had left him. That was what she had said; that she wouldn't look back, and that she wouldn't cry. And she always adhered to her rules, to the rules that life had taught her.

She stopped in front of the mirror in the foyer.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

She wondered for how long she had been crying.

She wondered, and then, she cursed. She cursed him, for returning to her, no matter if it was intentional on his part or not. She cursed herself, for being so weak and breaking so many of her rules. But most of all, she cursed the heavens, for rejecting her, for denying her the pity she had prayed for, for answering her pleas with mocking laughter and a cruel twist of fate.

All she had asked for was a life of convenience, one where she could act as if she didn't carry the blemishes and scars of heartbreak and a grueling life filled with nothing but debt.

But no. She wasn't one that the heavens looked upon kindly, with her traitorous past.

And so, Venus wept, in the cold, lonely foyer of her palace, all alone and all heartbroken.


	2. The Last Supper

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

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Chapter Two: The Last Supper

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He had thought he was stronger.

He knew he was a good liar, but he could never have imagined that he was this skilled, this adept, so that even he would be deceived by his own silver tongue.

It scared him. What other fabrications had he fed himself? What other stories had he woven, and in his delusion, believed? And what lies would he put his faith in, in the future? What dangerous, dangerous lies?

The screen of his phone cheerfully lit up, abruptly interrupting his brooding like a ray of sunlight cutting through a storm-cloud of brooding. Setting down the warm china teacup, the raven-haired man picked up the slim device to read the waiting message.

_The König would like to see you at 7:30 for dinner at Viande Rouge_.

Would like to? It's not as if he had a choice; it would be foolish of him to reject Schneizel's summons. Though saying that he couldn't attend was beginning to sound favorable, as it became more and more clearer by the second that C.C. would also be there. Seated besides her husband, with a pompous, ill-disguised glower.

A hard look set in on his face, and he unintentionally gripped his phone till his knuckles paled to a deathly white. She would be there. Of course she would. There was no question about it, she was his _fucking wife after all, not to mention the goddamn consigliore, it would be impossible for her not to be there_.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling extremely tired. He was exhausted, fatigued, by all of this unexpected drama and emotion. The dinner in which he had, by some cruel twist of fate, been reunited with the woman who had once been the love of his life, had taken place two weeks ago. two weeks had passed since he had kissed her hand, just as he used to all of those years ago, and two weeks had passed since he had begun going out of his way just to avoid seeing her. Two weeks since his comfortable, peaceful life had been violently ravaged by his emotions, his emotions that had once been so manageable and disciplined, that were now running wild like heathens.

He knew it was all just a disguise. His mind had dwelled far too much in the past during these last weeks, and the vagrant feelings, the burning anger, had returned to consume him once more, to act as a concealment for his heart. His poor, broken heart.

It had never healed from that day, when she had left him. He had only pretended it had, built up walls around the fragments so that no one, especially himself, see how lethal her desertion had truly been. There was the suppression. And then there was the hatred. He couldn't forget the hatred now, could he? The hate that ate at him, that had motivated him, that had led him to the dirty, bloodthirsty underground world of shiny, civilized Pendragon.

Hatred for what she had done, for leaving him, for running away.

And hatred for himself.

Why?

Because he hadn't been good enough for her. Because in the end, she didn't think that he could protect her, didn't believe him when he told her that he would give her his life if need be. But the hatred was only one side of the coin, for on the other side lay the love.

Never once, out of the four years that had passed, had he stopped loving her. Had stopped missing her. He had always loved her, and he still continued to do so to this very day. He hated himself for it; why love someone who didn't give a rat's shit for him? She had left him for another man, a man with more money and power than him, so why… Why would he love a traitor? Why not forget her, leave her, and move on with his life?

Because he couldn't. He couldn't forget her. He had tried so hard with so many methods. He had tried drinking himself numb, but the alcohol, the alcohol only made memories of her stronger, more vivid, until she was lying right besides, smiling, whispering to him, telling him that she would always love him. And the drugs? Oh, the drugs were no better. Pot, meth, heroin, cocaine, LSD, ecstasy, _nothing fucking worked_. She would always be there, in his head, with her beautiful smile and a soothing whisper. Nothing worked. That is, nothing had worked until he had turned to the mafia. Or rather, nothing had worked until the mafia had recruited him. Anyhow, one way or other, he found himself in the thick of crime, or murder, of the feared and omnipotent Weiss Ritter, and he used it to his advantage.

He rose quickly, doggedly toiling away, with fierce determination. He made it a habit to gamble with Death, for, with her departure, he had nothing left, nothing to lose, and thus, he soon found himself at the top of the very pyramid he had once held great contempt for.

And now, here he was, 'invited' to have dinner with the very woman who had made him turn to all of the deadly vices that the city of Pendragon could offer.

How wonderful.

"Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Lamperouge?"

He opened his eyes to stare into a pair of concerned emerald irises. Momentarily bewildered, he frowned. Who…? He was a frequent patron of this particular teahouse to the point where most, if not all, of the employees knew him by face, but this woman, she… What was her name again?

"No, I'm fine, thank you for your concern… Shirley."

Ah, her name was Shirley. He remembered now; she was the ditzy one, the one who was always smiling even when she caught her foot on the most random things and tripped, which was often, seeing as how she was a bit on the clumsy side.

"Are you sure? Would you like another cup of tea? I know one that helps with migraines, it's imported all the way from Cambodia, and we just got a new shipment this morn—"

"No. I'm quite alright, thank you."

"Oh… Well," she smiled brightly at him, "would like you some macaroons then, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"Maybe next time."

He returned her smile, and Shirley blushed, suddenly bashful and self-conscious of her rather dreary uniform. She had changed her hairstyle yesterday, and she hoped it looked okay. She had had it cut to her shoulders after she had heard a rumor that the handsome client favored women with shorter hair. Did it look bad? Or, or was it obvious that she cut it for him? Oh, it would be _so_ embarrassing if it was, because then it would mean that he knew how much she—

"… Shirley?"

"Yes, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"… When does your shift end?"

"My shift?" She blinked, confused. Why did he want to know when her shift ended? It… Wait a second. Wait a second, wait a second, wait a second! This couldn't… He wasn't going to… Was what was about to happen what she thought was going to happen?

"U-um, my shift ends at around 3:45…"

"Shirley, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

"D-dinner?" Her cheeks grew warm. Dinner with Mr. Lamperouge? As in… As in a dinner _date?_ The raven-haired man gave her a small, embarrassed smile, as he replied, "It seems I've been invited to a small dinner party, but I'll be the only person there without a partner. Would you care to be my date?"

"I…"

"I wouldn't have anyone else with me there," he said. "I won't take no for an answer."

What. A. Lie. Won't take no for an answer? If she declined, he'd simply move on to the next waitress, the next woman, who wandered his way. And they always did, like moths to a light. And he'd ask each and every one of them until one of them said yes. He didn't really care who it was that went with him. If she didn't have a dress, he'd buy one for her. If she didn't like him, he'd seduce her. It didn't matter who, so long as it was a woman he could tolerate.

And Shirley… Shirley, he knew his mask could tolerate.

"I… I don't…"

"You're not going to make me go to a dinner party all by myself, are you? I would enjoy it so much more if you would only be there, by my side."

She gulped.

"Of… Of course. Of cour— Yes. Um, yes, I will. Go with you, I mean."

"Marvelous. Where do you live? I'll come by at around 6:45."

"I live on the corner of 49th Street and 7th Avenue in Washington Hei—"

"Here's my number." He handed her a cloth napkin with his phone number inked into the pristine fabric. "Why don't you text me? Or call. Whichever one you're most comfortable with."

"O-okay."

With a gracious smile, he rose, and the young woman nearly stumbled backwards, surprised by the enormous height difference between them.

"I'll see you tonight then."

"Oh, um, Mr. Lamperouge? What type of dinner party is it? I… I don't want to wear the wrong thing."

"Whatever you wear will be perfect, Shirley. You're stunning in everything."

"O-oh, okay."

"Oh, and Shirley?"

"Yes?"

"Your haircut is lovely. Accents the beauty of your eyes."

Her cheeks flushed a dark red as she mumbled a bashful thank you to the man's back. As he left, several of the female employees rushed up to flank the doors and bow in unison.

"Please come again, Mr. Lamperouge."

"Ladies."

The second the door swung shut behind him and the entourage dissipated, Shirley collapsed into the comfortable seat her darling prince had just vacated.

Her heart was racing, and her cheeks were so warm, oh God, and she must look an _absolute mess _from being so flustered _but he had asked her out so what did it matter, he had asked her out!_ Was this… Were they in a relationship now? Was that it? Was she his girlfriend now? Or… Or was she not? It was all so confusing, and… And, and, it— _He had noticed her haircut and thought it was beautiful! He_ _thought_ _**she**__ was beautiful!_ It was like a dream come true, it was— This wasn't a dream, was it? Was it?

"Georgie!"

"Shirley, why are you sitting there? Are you sick? Do you need to go home?"

"Georgie, that wasn't a dream, was it? He really asked me out for dinner, right?"

"He? Who's he? I don't understand what you're…" A look of realization dawned on her friend's face. "No… He didn't… _Did he?!"_

"Georgie, he asked me out!"

"Holy— Come here, we're going to the locker room!"

As Shirley and her flatmate dashed to the sanctum of gossip, the love-struck young woman couldn't help but let out a tiny squeal.

It had finally happened! Her wish had finally been granted!

"Oh Georgie, you _have_ to help me find the perfect dress!"

"Of course! After all, who am I? You know what, Shirley? This is a special night, and you're going to need all of the time you can get to look _perfect for your date!_ I'll see if Agatha and Kallen are willing to trade shifts with us. I'll be right back. Oh my God, Shirley, I can't believe it!"

She wanted to dance, or jump up and down. So she settled for tightly hugging herself, quietly screaming out of euphoria.

It was finally happening!

Her date with Mr. Lamperouge!

. . .

"Dinner with him? Again?"

"Does it upset you, seeing Lelouch?"

"… I just don't understand why I have to be there," she lied.

"Ah, well, this will be the last dinner, my love."

"And then I suppose it'll be _lunch_ next time?" she questioned testily. Her husband merely chuckled, unfazed by the acid in his wife's voice, and patiently replied, "No, no, I give you my word. This will be the lat of these types of appointments."

She said nothing, wary of him. Her spouse must have realized, for he asked not unkindly, "Have I ever broken a promise?"

"… No." C.C. sighed. It was true. Schneizel was a man of his word, though he often twisted the meaning of what he had said so that he could get his way. He was a cunning man in that respect, a cunning, dangerous man, not someone to be trifled with. "What time are you going to pick me up?"

"7:00. But Cecaniah, my love."

"Yes?"

"Kanon Maldini will be chauffeuring you. I'm afraid I have a little business in the lower East side, and I fear I won't be able to take you myself. However, Kanon is a respectable gentleman, and I trust him, so there's no need to worry."

"I wasn't," she said flatly.

"That's my girl. I'm afraid I have to go now, but I will see you later this evening."

"Of course."

"Take care, my love."

The emerald-haired woman returned the handset back to its home on the traditional gilded telephone, numb with… With what? What emotions did she have left, in her battered soul? She had cried herself dry of feeling that night. She had come home, her hand burning with his kiss, her heart shattered all over again, and had taken a shower. A nice, hot shower, with a tropical steam enveloping the room. And as she had stood underneath the warm torrent, she allowed for her tears to fall, to mingle with the water before swirling down the drain. When she stepped out, when she had finished, she was wrinkled, as if she had prematurely aged several decades. Funny how she felt as if she prematurely aged for several centuries, with how void and impassive she felt.

She had been a woman of emotion once. Once, she had laughed and cried and felt anger and love and a myriad of other human emotions. But that had been long ago, when she had loved _him_. When they had been together, when they had been naïve and had sat underneath the stars together, whispering grand plans to one another, plans where they would be together for an eternity. A long time had passed since then, and many things had changed. Many, many things.

"Sayoko."

"Yes, Madame?" Her maid looked up expectantly, ready to execute her beloved mistress's orders.

"Do you know where the Atelier Versace gown is? The coral one I bought when I visited Paris last week."

"I believe they're in Madame's closet. Shall I also retrieve the Caresse d'orchidées par Cartier earrings?"

"The pink gold ones. With the matching necklace."

"Yes, of course, Madame. And what of the shoes?"

She froze.

The shoes?

The shoes… The shoes, the shoes that she'll wear to accompany her dress and jewelry, the shoes… The…

"… The ones… The ones that came in the day before yesterday."

"Yes, Madame."

As her maid purposefully made her way into the enormous closet, C.C. gripped the edge of her vanity table with trembling hands. Frightened tears sprung into her eyes, and she exhaled with a shudder. Why had she just…?

She had to change it, she had to wear different shoes, she had to, it was necessary, if sh didn't, then everything she had worked towards would be lost, and—

"For a man, Mr. Lamperouge has excellent fashion sense. And it also seems as if he's done his research; these shoes are the precise style Madame favors."

She looked up with wide, shell-shocked eyes at the gleaming pair of golden platform stilettos. They were expensive, designer. Of the latest season and fashion. They went well with her chosen dress, she liked them, and she would have gladly worn them, if only they weren't…

If only they weren't cursed.

For the moment she put those on, the moment she walked out with them, she'd be admitting the very truth she had been running from for all of those years.

For the moment she slipped them onto her feet, she'd be acknowledging how she still loved him.

And she couldn't have that.

"… Sayoko."

"Yes, Madame?"

"… Get me the Jimmy Choo stilettos instead. The blacks ones from London."

"Right away, Madame."

She breathed a sigh of relief as the danger passed. Once more calm and collected, her panic turned to anger. What was wrong with her? Still loved him? Who? Lelouch Lamperouge? What bullshit was she trying to— She didn't love him. She might have once, in the past, but that's what it was. The past. It was behind her, and now, right now, Cecaniah Corabelle didn't love anyone or any man. It would be in her best interest if she were to forget what once was, and focus on what presently was. It was the only way she could continue bearing with her existence, by avoiding the truth like the coward she was.

"Sayoko."

"Yes?"

"Sayoko, I want you to…"

Throw away the shoes. Throw them away. Sayoko, I want you to throw away the shoes from Mr. Lamperouge. It wasn't a long sentence, nor a complex one, and just seconds before, she had promised herself that she would focus on the here and now, so why… Why would it not leave her lips? It was right there, dangling on the tip of her tongue, and it… It just wouldn't…

"What is it, Madame? Did you change your mind about the shoes? Shall I take out the golden heels?"

"… No. No, I… No."

"Would you like to have your bath drawn while I lay out your clothes?"

"… Yes, thank you," quietly replied the young woman.

"Very good, Madame."

As the maids bustled around her, helping their mistress prepare for her outing, C.C. studied her reflection. She looked like she always did; calm, collected, poised. How deceitful she was, with her mask and excuses. She was nothing but lies. A woman woven from falsehoods and deception.

"Madame, the bath has been prepared."

"… Thank you, Sayoko. All of you may go rest for the remainder of the evening."

"Thank you very much, Madame Corabelle. Please have a wonderful evening full of entertainment."

The corners of her lips lighted up slightly, though her smile didn't reach her weary golden eyes. As the faithful Japanese woman slipped out after the other faceless maids, she wryly thought, 'Oh, it will be an evening of entertainment, though whether I'll have a wonderful time is…Questionable at best.'

As the emerald-haired woman undressed in the sanctity of the bathroom, she couldn't help but let her eyes wander to an ugly scar just underneath her left breast.

_"Ceci!"_

His voice, colored with concern and love, echoed in her head. The pet name he had had for her, the name that only he was allowed to call her, rang throughout her, shaking her to her very core as she stared at the one and only blemish ruining her perfect body.

And as she stood there, frozen in time, Venus vowed to herself that, though she presently felt this tempest of confusion and fear and love and denial, the moment she left the boundaries of her sanctuary, of her haven, of her home… The moment she left, she would return to the persona of a witch. Of an unfeeling, heartless witch.

It was the only way.

For all their sakes.

. . .

"Shirley, there's something you need to know about… Myself."

"Yes?"

She nervously fingered the hem of her white-mini dress. She hoped she looked alright. The dress wasn't of the newest fashion, but what did it matter? Right? Oh, who was she kidding? She was a waitress for heaven's sake, and even if it was at a high-class, VIP tearoom, her salary couldn't pay for the costly living expenses in the city _and_ a designer dress of the latest trends. Not that anyone would notice anyways. It was four seasons ago, she'd be fine. Or that was what Georgie had told her, anyhow. She prayed that her friend was right.

"Shirley, do you know what it is that I do for a living?"

"Um… Business of some sort?"

"Business…" He smiled, obviously amused by her answer. Why? Was what she had said wrong? He was a businessman, wasn't he? He was always dressed in suits, and drove nice cars, so everyone had just automatically assumed that he was a CEO of some sort who liked to drink tea. But if he wasn't a CEO, then what was he? He _must_ earn a six-figure salary in the least, right?

"Shirley, are you familiar with the Weiss Ritter?"

Her smile slid off of her face. Oh, he couldn't… He… It was a joke. This was a joke, a prank on his part, wasn't it? He couldn't actually… He… But he was such a gentleman, he was so kind and cordial, he wasn't anything like so murderous convicts, those gangsters with their tattoos and guns and drugs, it— _He couldn't be serious_.

"… Who are you in the Weiss Ritter? Are you… Are you an important person?" she whispered. The traffic light turned green, and they crossed the intersection before he answered her question.

"I am the capobastone."

She wanted to faint. It couldn't be possible, Mr. Lamperouge was such a gentleman, he was like a prince out of a fairy tale, he couldn't… But apparently, her fairy tale prince killed and intimidated people for a living. Apparently, her fairy tale prince was a _murderer_.

"Does it frighten you? That I'm a criminal."

She didn't know what to say, so she chose to remain silent.

"Would you believe me if I promised you that I would never hurt you? Or allow anyone else to hurt you?"

"… Mr. Lamperouge, I—"

"Please. Call me Lelouch."

"… Lelouch, I…" She evaded his eyes, unsure of what to do and what to say.

"If you feel that you're uncomfortable n my presence, then you may leave. You haven obligation to stay with me. I don't want you to feel threatened, or that you have to be with me in order to live."

Shirley chewed on her lip. Oh… Oh, oh, oh, what to do, what to do, what was she going to do? Everything told her to put as much distance between the raven-haired man and herself, but… But there was just something so irresistible about him, and she was in love with him too, and didn't being in love with someone mean accepting them for who they were just as theyw ere and loving them all the same? Didn't it?

"… My father told me once not to judge people by what they do for a living, but by who they are. I'm…" She hesitated. Was she really okay with this? He was a criminal; he had murdered people, he had taken others' lives with his hand… But then she remembered his forgiving smile when she botched up his orders, or the hand he offered her whenever she tripped, and it just…

"I'm willing to give you a chance to prove how right my father was."

"Thank you for being so open-minded."

She nodded solemnly. This was it. She had decided to give him a chance, and she couldn't go back on what she had promised. She only prayed that she hadn't made the wrong decision by blindly trusting in him. But he had promised that he would protect her, and from what she had seen, Lelouch Lamperouge seemed like a man of his word.

Just wait till Georgie heard about this. How surprised she would be, hearing how their good-natured and considerate fairytale prince was actually a dark warlock.

How surprised she would be…

Shirley knew _she_ was.

. . .

What was this?

A young woman, with wide, innocent emerald eyes, and ginger hair cut to her shoulders, sat across from C.C. She was dressed in a white dress that, though it was from four season ago, exuded purity. In fact, everything about this woman simply radiated naïveté. It was astounding; how could an individuals give off such an ingenuous aura? And where had Lelouch dug her up from?

"Shirley, this is Schneizel el Britannia, the capofamiglia of the Weiss Ritter, and his beautiful wife, Mrs.—"

"Cecaniah Corabelle," she cut in. A hint of disdainfulness made her voice flinty, and she grew impatient with herself. What was wrong with her? Was she jealous right now? _Jealous?_ Of this woman, who didn't own a private jet, or more diamonds than she cared for, or any of the luxuries and riches she possessed? Why would she be jealous? This woman had _nothing_ compared to her, absolutely _nothing_. So why was she feeling this way at the sight of the other woman draped over his arm?

"What a gift you bestow upon me, Lelouch. I never, in my wildest dreams, would have thought that I would be dining with two of Pendragon's most stunning women. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Fenette."

Flashing her a blinding smile, Schneizel brought her hand to his lips, effectively leaving Shirley dazed by _her_ fortune that brought her to dine with three of the most glamorous people in all of Pendragon. She wasn't used to this much charm, this much glitz, it was… It was like it was straight out of a movie, a movie where a prince rescued his princess, his one true love, and now, the prince and the princess were at a ball, meeting other royal and dignitaries and such… What a dream. It nearly made her forget that they were all really members of the most feared mafia syndicate in the entire nation, and possibly, hemisphere.

"Shall we begin? I'm sure the executive chef here was prepared a delectable and cultured dinner for us, as he always does."

"Yes, of course," smiled Lelouch. He glanced at the emerald-haired woman, who had apparently decided to ignore him again. Not that he cared. It wasn't as if he had purposefully brought Shirley to make her jealous. Of course not. How infantile would _that_ be?

. . .

Shirley felt incredibly uncomfortable. She felt so underdressed, especially compared to the bewitching and stylish woman seated across from her, and she wasn't used to such fine dining. She was more to _serving_ it than eating it. Not to mention how everyone was acting as if they had grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs since their birth. They probably _had_ grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs, but it was just… There was such a wide berth between her and everyone else, but that wasn't what was making her so nervous.

It was the palpable tension between Lelouch and Mrs. Corabelle. Shirley didn't know why, but there was so much electricity crackling between the two, despite them not having looked at each other even once… She felt desperately out of place. She… She needed a break, she needed reprieve. And what more, she needed it _now_.

"U-um, I'll be right back, Lelouch, I just… I just have to go to the bathroom, it'll be really quick, excuse me."

The second the young woman fled from her seat and towards her oasis, all motion ceased at the table. There was no chewing, no forks being lifted to mouths, no knives slicing the tender meat. Schneizel was gone, having excused himself to take an important phone call five minutes prior to Shirley's escape, leaving the witch and the warlock alone. As they sat by themselves, there was no movement whatsoever, as the pair hung suspended in time, completely frozen with shock at being completely alone. That is, there was no movement, until she spoke.

"What are you trying to get at?"

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're asking, Mrs. Corabelle." He set down his silverware before slowly leaning back into his chair. Her golden irises flickered up to meet his for the first time that evening as she said in a low voice, "That woman. Who is she?"

"Why? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous? Who do you think you're speaking to right now?" She smiled coldly, incredulous with his jabs. How _dare_ he make such an accusation?

"An envious _witch_ who's too proud to admit her true feelings. That's who I think I'm speaking to. Or am I wrong?"

She stared at him, furious. How _dare_ he— He knew _nothing_. He knew_ nothing_; what she did to get here, how she got here, what she sacrificed to keep him safe, to keep him _alive_… He knew absolutely nothing. But of course he knew nothing, he was the blind little boy, and she was the all-knowing goddess. She must be patient with him. For all of their sakes, she reminded herself.

For all of their sakes.

"I was just curious," she hissed, "Mr. Lamperouge, if there was any reason you brought Miss Fenette with you. You didn't bring her for our last dinner, and I don't believe my husband has told me anything about you being in a relationship."

"Your _husband_ hasn't told you about my being in a relationship?"

"Oh, he speaks of you," she replied amiably, plastering an adoring smile on her lips at the mention of her spouse. "Often, I might add."

Schneizel talked about him? With C.C.? What would he have to share with his wife about him?

"He likes you, my husband… Though, for the life of me, I can't understand why."

"And why is that?"

"You see… He doesn't know you as well as I do." Her eyes flickered up to him, goading him to take the bait. He knew that it was a trap, but he was seeing red right now, and it just— Fuck reason.

"What makes you say that you know me better than he does?" he asked. "Have you been with me at all during the last week? No, you haven't. But your husband, I've accompanied him on various trips to accomplish various tasks, and I believe it would be in the right to say that your husband, whom you can't understand, knows me better than you do. Than you ever will."

The insufferable man, the mere insolence. C.C. glared at him, the uncouth bastard as he spoke in a low, angry voice.

"So I suggest that you—"

"What's wrong?"

Man and woman turned to Shirley, who had returned, having stayed in the powder room for as long as etiquette would allow her. She stared at the way Mrs. Corabelle was gripping the neck of her wine glass, with her polished and manicured nails digging into her palm, her knuckles whitened a bony pallor, and then the dangerous glint in Lelouch's eyes, the look of an irate man who was nearly ready to upturn a table at the next wrong look sent his way. What exactly had happened when she had left?

"Is… Is everything alright?" she cautiously asked.

"Everything is fine," her date replied in an uncharacteristically tight voice. But she didn't believe him; it was clear to anyone that everything was _not_ fine, that everything was the opposite of fine. She wasn't stupid; she could tell when two people had been in the midst of an argument. But an argument about _what?_ What could possibly make these two level-headed, high-born people lose their tempers?

"I… This doesn't have anything to do with—"

"Lelouch."

"Yes?"

The raven-haired man looked up at his superior, who had returned from his phone call.

"It seems we're wanted at the Square. A few of our associates wish to conference with us on an urgent matter."

"I understand." The raven-haired man rose from his seat as Schneizel directed his attention to his wife.

"Cecaniah love, I apologize. I really hate to cut these dinner parties short, but… Business is business, and it comes first. You understand, don't you, my love?"

"Of course I do," she intoned. "Of course."

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead before saying, "Kanon will take you home. Miss Fenette, Mr. Maldini will also escort you home."

"Oh, I can't possibly—"

"Please. It would be foolish and rude of me to allow such a beautiful young woman to wander the city streets after nightfall."

"I… I don't want to cause any trouble… And—"

"On the contrary, Miss Fenette," interrupted C.C., "I'd like to get to know you better. I think we'll make good friends in the future, and I'd hate to lose a kind person such as yourself to the city."

"O-oh… Okay then, if you insist, then I suppose… I suppose it would be alright."

"Excellent. Now, Lelouch. We must hurry, my friend, lest we make our partners impatient."

With a smile and a promise to call later to Shirley, Lelouch followed Schneizel out of the restaurant. He felt uneasy leaving her along with C.C. He didn't know why the witch wanted to be alone with his date, but he didn't put it past her to try and find out the real reason he had brought her along to dinner. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. It wasn't as if he was going to be running into the witch often, so what did it matter?

. . .

"There's something I would like to discuss with you, Lelouch, before we meet our associates."

He turned away from the window he had been gazing out of to look to Schneizel. The blonde man seemed to be carefully choosing how to announce what was to come.

"As you know, the Hóng Hè have been a nuisance to us for some time now. They've been having what they insist are demonstrations of their power and strength. I have been tolerant with them; the Chinese mafia are not adversaries who are easily taken down, even by the Weiss Ritter, and should be dealt with in the most tactful manner possible. Therefore, it is unfortunate that," Schneizel frowned. "my patience for their demonstrations have begun to wane as of late."

"What will we do?"

"Nothing yet. We don't want any more casualties. However."

There was the word. _However_. There was always a however, and Lelouch had been listening for it. Now here it was, out in the open. He braced himself.

"However, in the event that war should be declared between the Hóng Hè and the Weiss Ritter, Lelouch, there is an extremely key role that you, and you alone, must fulfill."

He took a quiet sip of his wine, and the raven-haired man patiently waited.

"I need you to serve as guardian."

"For who?"

"For my wife."

He immediately stiffened.

"The Hóng Hè have been foolish; with their demonstrations, they show the enemy their power, yes, but also their attack styles. Patterns have arisen, Lelouch, and it is evident that if we go to war with the Hóng Hè, the first person who will be targeted—"

"—is your wife."

"I cannot have my wife endangered because of men who know no restraint. I refuse to allow her to be put in such a position. Thus, I need you to guard her."

"… What would my role entail?" God fucking damn it, he— How much more did Fate want from him? Hadn't they had enough? He had screamed and cried and fallen to the depths of Tartarus, and still, it wasn't enough for them. Why? What else did he have to give them? His life?

"Be with her at all times. Accompany her wherever she goes, be it a boutique in the Upper West Side, or the streets of Tokyo. Be with her, and protect her from the Hóng Hè. Keep harm from befalling her. Guard her."

He stared out of the car's window and at the blurred scenery whipping by. He wanted to laugh. He nearly did, when he saw how serious Schneizel was. Protect C.C.? What was this, some television sit-com? Because things like this never happened in real life, coincidences didn't pile up like this, and this amount of drama almost _never_ swamped someone. Not like this. Never like this.

"If you must, Lelouch, see this as a… A license for freedom. A license that ensures that you live. You won't have to be on the battlefield, on the front lines. There'll be next to no life-threatening situations, except, perhaps, for the occasional shopping excursion."

He smiled tightly. "Is Mrs. Corabelle aware of my new responsibilities?"

"Not yet. But she will come to know in due time. Let us hope, in the mean time, that there will be no need for her to find out."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Lelouch. I say this, not as the head of the Weiss Ritter, of your brotherhood, but as a man. As a husband."

"How can I say no to the man whom I owe my life to?"

Schneizel smiled. "Ah, here we are." The door opened, and the two men stepped out into the deserted plaza.

"Schneizel el Britannia. I thought you wouldn't show your face. I was just about to send for you, but there you were, coming down the street, on your white stallion. How are you, my friend?"

"Well, thank you. Zero, this is Lelouch Lamperouge, the gifted young man I spoke to you about. Lelouch, this is Zero, the leader of the Black Knights who are, not only associates of the Weiss Ritter, but trusted friends."

As the two shook hands, Lelouch couldn't help but smile wryly at his superior's silvery words. Friends? What friends? There were no such things as friends when it came to the mafia. Betrayal was inevitable; it was merely a matter of time until the Black Knights would turn their backs on the Weiss Ritter as they desperately scuffled for more power. Just as the Hóng Hè had done.

That was simply the way the crime world worked. Men were treacherous, and the women… The women were lethal.

Schneizel had told him that he would be safer than most of the members of their brotherhood, but Lelouch only laughed at him. Safe? Him, alone, with Cecaniah Corabelle, the woman who had crushed his heart and nearly robbed him of his sanity, safe?

_ Pray_, he counseled, _pray that the heavens have laughed their fill and that they spare you, for if they have not… If they've not, and war is declared, you shall most certainly end up in a pool of your own blood._


	3. All The Bright, Precious Things

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

* * *

Chapter Three: All The Bright, Precious Things

* * *

_"Eh? What's this? Jesus fuck, how many fuckin' junkies are there around here? Oi. Oi! Get up. Get up from the ground, you son of a bitch, you're blocking the way, the Boss can't go inside with you here. Oi!"_

_ If there was one place you could travel to in the entire world… Where would it be?"_

_ "There's a fountain in Rome," she whispered, "And the local people there say that if you go to the fountain just as the sky clears after a storm, and look into the water, you'll see the face of your soul mate…"_

_ "Hey, he's not going to listen. He's too stoned, it's no use."_

_ "Fuck these druggies. What the fuck do they think, that everyone can wait on them? Listen up, you bastard. Our Boss is on his way, and when he hears that you're in his way, he's going to fuck you up so much more than those drugs are, you hear me?"_

_ "Whose reflection do you think you would see?"_

_ "Whose reflection do __**you**__ think I'd see?" She giggled, and he smiled before leaning in for a kiss._

_ "Fuck, man, we don't have a lot of time. We got to clear the way for the Boss."_

_ "Motherfuckin' Christ, I don't know why I even bothered being nice." The tattooed criminal pulled out a gun and pointed it towards the intoxicated man lying desolately on the cold, wet ground. "Oi. I'm a pretty good-natured guy. So I'll give you one last chance. If you don't get up in the next three seconds, I might just blow your fuckin' brains out unless you get up and fuck off. You hear me? Huh, you pathetic bastard?"_

_ "What is it?"_

_ "… Lelouch."_

_ "One, two, thre—"_

_ "Why don't you put the gun down?"_

_ The two gangsters looked up to see a well-dressed man standing in front of them. Glaring suspiciously at him, the one with the firearm narrowed his eyes before spitting, "Who the fuck are you to tell us what to do?"_

_ Unfazed, the mysterious gentleman calmly spoke. "This individual is one of my own. I suggest you leave him be, lest you wish for misfortune to befall you."_

_ "Now you look here, you son of a bitch. The ones with the guns, the bullets, huh, are right here. We're the ones holding the trigger, not you, so what __**I**__ suggest is that you, and your fancy little suit, run off before we decide to waste two bullets today, instead of o—"_

_ The inhabitants of the buildings flanking the alleyway screamed and panicked as a series of rapid gunshots sounded throughout the streets. Completely unperturbed by the giant puddle of blood pooling on the concrete, Schneizel el Britannia bent down to the mess of man and drugs who was lying at his feet._

_ "Lelouch Lamperouge. I've been watching you for some time, and I've taken an interest in you. It's time you're pulled from the dark side of the moon and come join us at the light, for what awaits you, young man, is everything you could ever wish for."_

_ "Lelouch, do you love me?"_

_ "I love you, Ceci. I will until the day time stops," he whispered. "Forever and always."_

_ She smiled._

"Lelouch?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" Shirley looked at him anxiously; he had been staring off into the distance, completely blind and deaf to his surroundings. She would have let this go, but he had been doing it more and more often lately, and it was starting to gnaw on her nerves. What was wrong?

"… I'm fine." He gave her a half-hearted smile before turning his attention back to navigating their way through the heavy morning traffic. And though she didn't believe him, she let it slide. Just this once. He looked tired and weary, and her nagging him wouldn't help him.

"Well… Thank you. For taking me to work."

"It's what a good boyfriend should do, isn't it?"

Her smile faltered at his reply. It was always, "It's what a good boyfriend should do." Always. Never had he ever said anything the likes of "It's because I want to" or "I get to spend more time with you, so it's okay." Not even once. It was always just "It's what a good boyfriend should do." As if he was only going through the motions of a relationship, as if this was just a test that he had to pass. As if he didn't really mean it. Did he even love her? Rather, did he even _like_ her? And… And would he even care if she were to walk out of his life? At all? Did he care about her at all?

"… Le—"

"Are you free after work today, Shirley?"

"Um…"

"I was thinking that we could go to the restaurant in Little Italy that you wanted to go to so much." He glanced at her, as if gauging for her reaction. As if he were checking to see if he had said the right thing. Shirley struggled to smile.

"Oh, um… Sure, why not?"

She couldn't nitpick with him. It was impossible to, he was the perfect boyfriend; he held the door open for her, he was punctual, cordial, kind, knew the right compliments to tell her at the right time, paid attention to everything she said, remembered even the most minute details, and yet…

There was something missing, it was… It wasn't _authentic_, it didn't feel like a real relationship, she didn't… There was no love. There was no warmth, no feeling, it… It was all empty. Void. Meaningless. Like they were simply actors, and they were only reciting lines from a script.

"… Lelouch, I… I want to…" She drew in every ounce of courage she could. "I want to talk to you about something important."

"I'm listening."

She froze. Could she… Could she really ask him this? Would he get angry if she did, if she asked him… If she asked him the question, if she asked him if he really loved her? Wouldn't he get annoyed? Was _she_ even ready to ask something like this, was she mentally and emotionally prepared for whatever answer he would give her? It… Oh, it was just so— She— Time.

That was it.

That's what she needed, a little time, a little time and space, to think before saying anything rash. Hadn't he always told her to be careful, to be cautious before making any final decisions? Yes, what she needed was a little time. She would go to work, take her mind off of the matter, maybe discuss it with Georgie, and if, by the time thy were sitting at the dinner table, she still felt the need to know, still felt doubtful, that was when she would ask. Not now. Then.

"I'll ask you later, when we have more time," she replied. He only nodded absentmindedly.

"I'll pick you up when you get off of work."

"Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

She gave him a swift peck on the cheek before hopping out of the sleek sports car. Standing on the curb, she waved him goodbye until he was swallowed by the thick flow of morning commute traffic.

The second the tail lights vanished, Shirley let her hand and smile crash to the ground.

She was the envy of her colleagues and coworkers. The day she had walked into work, floating with euphoria as she delivered the news of how Mr. Lamperouge, her darling fairytale prince, had asked her to be his girlfriend on their third date following the dinner he had first asked her out to a month ago, that day had been the beginning of a new era, an era in which she, Shirley Fenette, would be the most blissful woman on earth.

It seemed like that day had been so far away, had happened an entire lifetime ago, when it had only been a month in reality…

If she knew what her relationship with him would end up like, would she have been so happy that day?

It was so depressing. The realization that her dream wasn't as perfect as she had thought it would be tore at her; she wanted to cry. There it was, her deepest desire having been granted, and yet, at the same time, it not having been granted. How cruel reality was.

"Shirley? What are you doing standing there? You're going to be late!"

"I-I'm coming, Georgie. Wait up!"

"Hurry up, sleepyhead. I told you that you have to be careful with guys. They'll say and do anything to get into your pants. I bet you even Mr. Lamperouge—"

"We didn't do anything like that, Georgie." The ginger blushed. The very thought of, of doing something like that with him, it just— Oh, he hadn't even kissed her yet. How could Georgie even think to say something like that?

Her friend snorted. "Oh, sure, and I'm a Saint, right? Geez, I slept over at Kallen's last night just for the purpose of leaving you two alone. Are you sure? You're not lying to me, are you? Cause I will find out, I—"

"I'm telling the truth!" she passionately insisted. "Lelouch, he… He said that he… That…"

"That he what, Shirley? What did your perfect boyfriend say this time?"

Cheeks painted a bright rouge, she avoided making any eye contact with her inquisitive companion before mumbling, "He said that… That he was saving, that he was saving it for when he got married, which I personally think is very sweet and romantic of him."

She stopped walking. Confused by her reaction, Shirley turned around. "What's wrong?"

"Are you telling me," her flatmate said slowly, "that he's still a virgin? That Lelouch Lamperouge, the single sexiest, most attractive guy out there since whenever, is a _virgin_."

"Well, he—"

"You're lying. You're lying, it can't— No, wait, _he's_ lying. How is _he_ a _virgin_? If _he's_ a virgin, how are the rest of us supposed to get laid? I mean, seriously, Shirley, you can't actually believe that, that's the stupidest thing I've ever—"

"No, Georgie, not so loudly," she begged. "I don't want the others to find ou—"

Tearing her mouth free from the embarrassed woman, the mischievous confidante shouted across the plaza. "Hey, Kallen, guess what Shirley just told me!"

The bleary-eyed redhead turned around, stifling a yawn, before asking, "What?"

"Well, apparently—"

"No, Georgie, don't!"

As she chased after her giggling workmate, Shirley allowed the dark storm could that had been hanging over her for some time to quietly float away. It hadn't dissipated yet. Not yet. But for the time being, for now, she would remain quiet and simply think. Thus, she ran after her friend, from the dark thoughts that had been plaguing her, and to carefree ignorance.

. . .

Gravel crunched underneath the tires of the gleaming car as its purring engine was silenced. The vehicle was immobile, lifeless, and yet, the driver never stepped out. He remained in his seat, gazing out over the placid lake in morose stillness.

Lelouch felt numb with grief. How long had it it been since the last time he had been here? This lake that he'd work so hard to avoid, to ignore? And how much time had passed since the first kiss they had shyly shared on its banks? Since he had proposed to her here?

He sat, completely motionless, save for the lazy smoke curling towards the sky from the end of his cigarette.

That was it, they whispered. Inhale, exhale. In, out, in, out, in, and out. Don't think about anything else. Just. Breathe.

_"It's about time we left Pendragon. I've been wanting to get out of here since I was born, and now I'm finally free."_

_ "Your mother will miss you terribly." C.C. only shrugged nonchalantly as she looked out over the lake._

_ "She will. But I'll come visit every chance I get. And it's not as if we're living in the Dark Ages. She'll live," she joked._

_ "That's not going to stop her from crying when you go to the hospital tomorrow to say goodbye to her."_

_ She scoffed. "She'll probably be crying because you're leaving her, not me. She absolutely adores you, though I have no clue as to why she loves you so much."_

_ "It makes up for your father, so I don't see why you should complain."_

_ She grinned. "Now, my father is an entirely different story. It's a theory of mine that I'm more like Papa than Maman, what with our personalities and appearances and whatnot."_

_ "Except your father hates me, whereas you like me."_

_ "He's suspicious of you, you know. He wonders why a teenage boy would even bother spending his time with a girl, unless it's to try and get into her pan—"_

_ "C2."_

_ "You must have tried, or at least wanted to, at one point or other. For God's sake, Lelouch, you're a boy too, which means you're also susceptible to hormones. Even you can't deny that fact of li—"_

_ "I went to see your father the other day."_

_ She frowned. "Papa? When? And why did I not know about this until now?"_

_ "I wanted to speak to him privately."_

_ "… Why?"_

_ The raven-haired man only watched the setting sun, rather than answer her query. Annoyed, she demanded, "Why, Lelouch? Why did you go to Papa alone?"_

_ "C2, we met in ninth grade, didn't we?"_

_ She looked at him strangely but replied all the same._

_ "When you were told to sit next to me."_

_ "And we've been friends ever since?"_

_ "Yes…"_

_ "When I went to your father the other day, he and I, we spoke for a long time, but he eventually agreed."_

_ "Agreed to what?"_

_ A strange feeling began to settle over her. When he finally turned towards her, surprise smacked right into her. When had he… When had he grown to be so tall? Hadn't they been the same height? What… And his face. It was completely different, there was no trace of the awkward, lanky boy he had once been, he was… He was a man now. A full grown man. But when? When had he… And why hadn't she noticed until now? No, no, no, that wasn't right. She hadn't noticed just now, she had always known. Somewhere, deep within her, she had always know. She had only shut it up, ignored it, so that she could pretend that her feelings for him weren't changing. But they had caught up with her now, and she was caught, bound by his soft violet gaze._

_ "C2, do you remember that game we used to play during the summers when we were bored?"_

_ "Hypothetically Speaking?" What was wrong with him? It wasn't like him to be so random, to just subjects like this. If anything, she was always the one who changed subjects as she pleased while he was the one who always insisted on finishing conversations to the very end._

_ "Would you like to play, as a commemoration of our high school graduation?"_

_ "Lelouch, I thought—"_

_ "Play," he said firmly. "Play, just this once. It can be the last time. It probably will be the last time. But just play this once, C2."_

_ "… I assume you're going first?"_

_ "Hypothetically speaking, if the reason why I rejected each and every one of those girls who came to confess during those four years was you, what would you do?"_

_ What?_

_ "Hypothetically speaking, if I were to tell you that I've been in love with you since that day we shared an umbrella freshman year, what would you say?"_

_ He stepped forward._

_ "Hypothetically speaking, Cecaniah… Hypothetically speaking, Ceci, would you push me away if I kissed you right now?"_

_ Compose yourself, she ordered. Compose yourself, C2, and answer the damn boy._

_ "… Why don't you find out?"_

_ He smiled, and her lips followed, before her first kiss was claimed by him on the banks of the lake on the Friday evening before they would leave for Juilliard. The sun was setting as he drew her in closer, as she wove her fingers through the soft raven hair she had often braided just to annoy him, as he broke away from the lips that had teased him before leaning down once more, and oh God, he had waited so long for this one moment, he had endured three and a half years of sitting on the sidelines, simply watching as C.C. had dated the stupidest boys who never understood her as much as he did, he had gone toe-to-toe with her father, who he had to admit was slightly intimidating in the way that he was so skeptical of him and protective of his only daughter. But it was worth it. It was completely and utterly worth it, he decided. In fact, he would go through all of those trials, and a thousand more, as long as it meant that he would be able to stand here, on the shores of the lake, looking down at the most beautiful girl in the world whom he could finally call his, and his alone._

_ "I love you, Ceci."_

_ She buried her smile into his chest. "You are mine, and mine only, from this point on. Never forget that, Lelouch."_

_ "I promise I won't," he murmured. And they both smiled, unreservedly drowning in euphoria._

They had been barefoot at the time, he recalled. Barefoot, and in love. So deeply in love, it was just… It made him wonder; if he had loved her less, if his feelings for her hadn't been so intense, would he have been able to let her go? Would he be suffering as he was suffering now? Or was it inevitable, a part of Fate's design, to be subjected to such torment?

He opened his tightly clenched fist and stared blankly at the small silver ring winking up at him from his palm. It was a simple piece of jewelry; he had had very little money to his name at the time after all. A single silver band with a singular pearl embedded within the thin ring. That was it. It was nowhere near anything like the wedding ring gracing her finger now. But this ring, it was more than just a ring, it was more than just a pearl and a silver band. It was the embodiment of his love, his promise to protect and love her for the rest of his life; with it, he had meant to show her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her. And she had accepted him, trusted in him, had agreed to share their lives together for the rest of eternity.

Or so he had once thought.

He didn't know why, or how he had held on to this fragment from his past life for all of these years.

How long had it been since she had left him?

Four years.

How long since the beginning of their eight-year relationship?

Twelve.

And how long since they had first met, since he had fallen in love with her?

Sixteen and fifteen years respectively.

Where had all of the time gone?

More importantly, where had all his sanity fled to?

He had come here to the lake for the singular purpose of throwing the ring away, to desert one of his last memories of that naïve, miraculous time. But now that he was here… Now that he was here, with the memory in his hand and the loch before him, the very loch where they had shared their first kiss, where he had knelt down in front of her to ask her to be his wife, he just…

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't do it, it would be like throwing a part of himself away, for throwing the ring away would mean throwing away his heart, for he still loved her.

He still loved her, she who was untouchable.

Putting the cigarette out, he started the car. The spinning tires spit out gravel as he backed out and drove away, ran away like the coward he secretly was. He didn't know why he had thought he could do it, there had been a reason why he had held onto the ring. Admittedly, he wasn't quite sure of it, but he knew that there was a reason why, and that that reason still held. He couldn't throw it away, no matter how much he wished he could.

But as he drove away, the raven-haired man vowed to himself.

He may not throw it away today, or tomorrow, but one day…

One day, he would.

He swore on it.

. . .

Shirley distractedly polished the cup. It had begun to gleam five minutes ago, but her thoughts were elsewhere, and thus, the teacup bravely endured the shining as best as it could.

What Shirley was so fixated on was a mystery. It wasn't about her boyfriend, fortunately, but it was close. Very, very close.

About a month ago, she had been invited to have dinner with Lelouch, and there, she had made several discoveries. For instance, she had found out that cordial, gentlemanly, warm-hearted Mr. Lamperouge was actually a kingpin in the most feared criminal syndicate of the century. She had also had her hand kissed by the leader of the very same organization, the König of the Weiss Ritter, Schneizel el Britannia, and had been acquainted with his beautiful, young wife. That night was also the very same evening in which she began to suspect that not everything was as it seemed, that there was something more between Lelouch Lamperouge and Cecaniah Corabelle. She didn't know _what_, or _when_, but there was something definitely there, and it was making her slightly uneasy. If she had to eventually compete against her, with a lady of that much grace and affluence, would she win? _Could_ she win? She was so beautiful, and though she had seemed a little more than distance from everyone, and hadn't even smiled once during their meeting, Shirley could tell that Mrs. Corabelle's smile would be one of radiance and—

"Shirley, there's someone here to see you."

"Huh?" She looked up, startled. Who would be here to visit her? It couldn't be Lelouch; he had his own job to do… To do whatever it was that Mafiosos did during the day. So who could it be? Kallen, never one big on slow reactions, impatiently rapped the counter to call for her attention.

"You might want to hurry up and get out there to meet her. I don't think we should keep her waiting."

"Who—"

"Hurry, hurry!"

She was ushered out of the kitchen, the cup and cloth plucked from her hands, before she was sent on her way. As she walked down the hallway to one of the private salons, the ginger woman couldn't help but frown. Who could it be? It was obviously a woman, but most of her girl friends worked with her, or were working right now. And even if they had been able to visit, they would never be admitted into the tearoom, since they only accepted people of the highest class, the top 1% of Pendragon's socialites, it…

"Miss Fenette."

"Mrs. Corabelle?"

"Please, take a seat."

Though she was bewildered, Shirley obediently sat down in the comfortable loveseat across from her visitor, who had, once again, managed to succeed in making her feel inferior. She was dressed in a chic black dress, one that complemented her long, creamy legs, along with a white blazer that had undoubtedly had a price tag in the thousands. A necklace, elegantly studded with diamonds, winked at her as the sophisticated madame lowered a cup of fragrant tea from her rosebud lips.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here."

"N-no, not at all, I would expect a lady of your status to come here like this, I was just… I was just a little surprised…"

"A lady of my status," she murmured. C.C. couldn't resist smirking at the irony. How funny. A lady of her status? She truly did know nothing. So Lelouch hadn't told her anything. Yet.

"How are things with Mr. Lamperouge?" she questioned politely. The waitress's eyes snapped up from the skirt of her uniform to stare at her in surprise. "L-Lelouch?"

"Has he been treating you well?"

"Um, yes, he has, but, um… Mrs. Corabelle?"

"Yes?"

C.C. observed how she squirmed in her seat, wondering how in the world Lelouch managed to put up with that, since one of the things he absolutely detested was restless fidgeting. In fact, how did he even put up with this woman in the first place? She wasn't even his ideal type, and the raven-haired man was often a perfectionist. With his personality, he wouldn't have it in him to tolerate her, so how… Unless he loved her. Unless he really actually did love her. Her expression hardened at the thought. So he loved her, did he?

"… Mrs. Corabelle, what… What exactly, um, what exactly is your relationship with Lelouch?"

"My relationship with Lelouch?"

Her eyes dropped down to her hand, where her wedding ring silently glimmered with its glorious 24 karat diamond.

"… We used to be classmates in high school."

Shirley tilted her head to the side, curious. That couldn't be all. There was more to it, there had to be more to the story than she was letting on. She just knew it; Mrs. Corabelle's expression had looked so distant, so far off, as if she were reliving some memory of a happier place and time. Even if it was just for a split second, the expression was unmistakable, and it intrigued her even further. What exactly had happened between the two?

"Um, Mrs. Corabelle, I—"

"It seems that it's time for me to go."

Huh?

The emerald-haired woman rose from her seat before giving her a smile that didn't quite her eyes and a polite, "Good afternoon, Miss Fenette" and walking away. Stunned, Shirley blinked at the sofa where Mrs. Corabelle had been sitting just seconds earlier, before rushing to the window of the room. She didn't notice Georgie slipping inside until her friend asked, "What'd she want?"

They watched as the gentlewoman exited the building. A tall man bowed curtly before opening the door of a luxurious sedan for her. Shirley couldn't stop her wistful sigh.

"What do you think it'd be like, Georgie, to live like Mrs. Corabelle?"

"I don't know… Don't you think it'd be kind of boring? I mean, she can't do whatever she wants cause she has to conform to what society wants and expects her to be like."

"What are you talking about?" The car pulled away, and the young woman dragged herself away from the view to help her best friend clean up.

"You have to realize, Shirley, that having too much money can be a bad thing too. It can become a cage for some people. A gilded cage made of gold, but a cage all the same. I personally would hate my life if I were trapped like that."

"Who said that she was trapped?"

"Couldn't you tell? Shirley, does she look like someone who's happy to you?" Georgie shook her head out of pity. "If anything, I feel _sorry_ for her. It'd totally suck to be like her."

"Well, I happen to think that she's a very beautiful person, and that it would be nice to get to know her better. Maybe even be friends with her."

"Maybe. But isn't she the wife of the Weiss König? Eesh, Shirley, if I were you, I'd be really careful around her. Piss her off, and you could end up as a mutilated corpse at the bottom on the Antoine River."

She became indignant. "She's not like that. She's very polite, a true lady."

"Hmmm, well, we all thought that Mr. Lamperouge was a gentleman, but then we found out the truth about him, didn't we?"

"What are you talking about? He is a gentleman, he—"

"I was just kidding, Shirls. It was a joke. Come on, we've got to get back to work, or Nina'll tell us off again."

As she was dragged away, Shirley couldn't help but frown. Was Georgie right? Was Mrs. Corabelle really caged?

It wasn't until lunchtime when she realized that perhaps, _perhaps_, the reason why Mrs. Corabelle had paid her a visit was because she was lonely.

Perhaps.

. . .

As the car dove into the steady stream of vehicles, C.C. berated herself. Why, she scowled, had she gone to visit Shirley Fenette? Why had she bothered to find out where she worked, why had she bothered going there, and why had she bothered to go through the trouble of gaining access to one of the most elite tearooms in all of Pendragon, all just to meet a woman whom her past lover had apparently decided to sleep with? Why would she care? Why?

She had no business with her. She wasn't friends with her, she wasn't conducting business with her. They were completely unrelated save for one man, a man whom she had decided to ignore. As it happened, the only reason why she even knew of her existence was because of Lelouch Lamperouge, and God knew how much she detested to be even mentioned in the same sentence with him.

C.C. drew in a slow, deep breath. She wasn't going to dwell on him. She had promised herself that she wouldn't, and she would make good on that promise.

"Jeremiah."

"Yes, Madame?"

"Go to Fifth Avenue. I want to speak to—"

She threw a hand out to catch herself as the car was violently read-ended. What the—

Her chauffeur suddenly sped the car forward in complete disregard for traffic laws and common sense.

"Jeremi—" But he cut her off. "My apologies, Madame, however, please bear the discomfort for just a little longer."

She could hear Sayoko speaking in a business-like clip. "System pattern rouge. Yes. Approximately thirty seconds ago. Yes, we understand."

"Sayoko." Her mistress called for her attention as the maid opened the glove box of the vehicle to pull out two pistols. As she reached underneath her seat to retrieve a satchel of daggers, she explained the present situation.

"We are currently returning to the Schachmatt as protocol mandates due to the aggression the Hóng Hè just exhibited towards you. Master Schneizel is currently moving towards the Schachmatt as we speak, as are every single capo within a hundred mile radius from the Schachmatt., along with their individual outfits. Madame, we— Jeremiah!"

They swerved violently to the left just as the glass right besides C.C.'s ear splintered. She stared as another bullet attempted to penetrate the bullet-resistant glass, followed by another, and another, and another. As shot after shot rain down on her, it became increasingly obvious how the window wasn't going to hold up for much longer.

"Jeremiah, they're closing in, we need to—"

The window shattered.

She could distinctly hear Sayoko saying something, either to Jeremiah or to herself, but she wasn't quite sure. She wasn't quite sure of anything really, as the sedan weaved around the other cars dangerously and the speedometer needle trembled at the reckless 200 mph mark. Everything was just a blur of cacophonous sound and smudged paint.

All she could make out was silver hair whipping in the wind, gleaming from the depths of the black van that was keeping pace with them, its doors wide open so that she could see a pair of psychotic black eyes gleaming at her with a bestial hunger.

It was the Hóng Hè. They had come to catch her, to kill her.

The savage murderer, with his dilated pupils and deranged smile, seemed to mouth, "Hello, darling" before raising the muzzle of a gun so that it was directly aimed for her forehead.

She closed her eyes.

. . .

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

Suzaku Kururugi eyeballed the raven-haired man, slightly concerned. Though his back was turned towards him, he could tell that he was incredibly tense, completely on edge. What was happening? What was the phone call about, what had the person on the other line said to make such a cool and collected person so furious?

He watched as the man set his cell down slowly, carefully, before picking up his gloves. It made the trainer uncomfortably, uneasy. The way he moved was deliberate, as if he was fighting something, probably anger, as if he was struggling not to break something out of rage. It was extremely unnerving to see a person such as him so out of control of his emotions.

"Lelouch, what—"

_**Bam.**_

If it weren't for his reflexes, Suzaku would have probably stumbled backwards from surprise and the sheer force of the right hook. What was—

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, sl— Lelou— S— _Stop_. Lelouch, stop, ta— Calm down, you have to stop before you hurt yourself, you— Hey. Hey, he— _Hey!"_

He grabbed ahold of his wrists before demanding, "What is wrong with you? What's wrong, Lelouch? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing—" he snapped. But he wasn't having that. "What do you take me for, an idiot? What happened, Lelouch?"

Emeralds drilled into amethysts before the latter tore his wrists free. Roughly ripping off the boxing gloves, he threw them to the ground. He stared as his sweat slid down the geography of his face before falling to the mats below his feet. He watched one, two, three droplets before finally speaking in a low, barely-controlled growl.

"Do you remember that woman I told you about?"

"… Your ex-fiancé? Why? Did you… Did you see her again?"

"Apparently, the König is her goddamn husband. She was so close this entire time, and I never knew…"

He laughed, cruelly, coldly, at himself. All this time… All this fucking time, she had been right there, and he hadn't been the wiser. All this goddamn fucking time.

"How… How is she?" Suzaku cautiously asked. He knew that Lelouch was a part of the Weiss Ritter, and he knew bits and pieces of the Mafioso's tragic past romance, but what he didn't know was what to say or do in reaction to the news. Ask him about her? Let him continue beating the living hell out of the heavy bag? What? What was he supposed to do? What was the right thing to do? To say? He had never felt so lost.

"Oh, she's quite well," he replied. "For someone who's sold her body."

"… Lelouch, I don't—"

"He doesn't even love her," he snarled. "He doesn't even love her."

"… Does she love him?"

There was no reply. Shit.

"… You know, if you want, I—"

"You asked me earlier what had happened. That was just from the König himself. A month ago, he told me that, in the event that the Weiss Ritter go to war with the Hóng Hè, I am to protect his wife. Be with her, most, if not all, hours of the day. Every day. With her. Alone. Following her around, like some dog."

"Does the König know about your, uh… Your past with… With his wife?"

"If he knew, would he have appointed me as her personal body guard?"

Suzaku frowned grimly. "What are you going to do?"

"What else can I do, besides do as he orders?"

Silence enveloped the room as the raven-haired man struggled to control the despair, the anger, that was rising within him. Why? Why did this have to happen, why was this— What had he done to deserve this? It was so hard, _so hard_, trying to keep her at bay already, to keep his feelings at bay, and now, now he was chained to her, and it just…

"I'm going to get some gauze," announced the Japanese.

Lelouch merely stared at the fragmented mirror, his work of art. How ironic; his reflection was just as he felt; broken and disconnected.

Clenching his fist, he ignored the pain shooting through his arm, ignored the blood dripping to the ground, and just stared.

_"Promise me one thing, dear."_

_ "Anything," he replied. He moved his chair closer to the frail woman lying in the bed, who was buried and nearly lost in the folds of her hospital gown. She held his hand in between two weak, pale ones of her own, as she made an effort to speak to him._

_ "Promise me you'll protect my daughter. I trust no one but you, Lelouch dear. You can do that for an old lady such as myself, can't you?"_

_ "I swear to you that she'll come to no harm."_

_ "Such a sweet boy…" She smoothed his hair before cupping his cheek as she smiled up at him, faint traces of her beauty appearing. "My daughter should thank her stars for meeting you. __**I**__ should thank my stars for having such a kind, thoughtful man taking care of my Cecaniah. I know she can be difficult at times, but believe me when I say that I've never seen her happier than when she's with you. Protect her for me, Lelouch, and make her happy. So, so happy that she'll forget all about her sick mother. Can you do that for me?"_

_ Rising, he gently kissed her on the forehead, the woman who had raised the love of his life, the woman who he hoped to be his mother-in-law one day. She smiled, patting his hand, before whispering, "You should probably go now, dear. She's most likely angry at me, for keeping you to myself for so long. And we wouldn't want an angry C2 on our hands now, would we?"_

That had been years ago, before C.C.'s mother had succumbed to her breast cancer, before everything had gone downhill. Before tragedy had ravaged his life.

Everything had come full circle. Years ago, he had made a promise to be her guardian, and now, here he was, shackled by the exact same vow. His past had finally managed to catch up with him.

_Affliction is enamored of thy parts_, they whispered, _and thou art wedded to calamity_.

He most certainly was.

He most certainly was wedded to calamity.

. . .

"That's enough."

The maid bowed before rising and packing up the first aid material. Ignoring her, C.C. stared at her husband, who had only just arrived. His hair was slightly windblown, and his clothes were a little ruffled, which sent alarms off in her head. Schneizel was never one who stood for disorder, whether it came to the Weiss Ritter or his personal appearance. It was true that he had just flown in by helicopter, but this was Schneizel el Britannia, not some other man.

So it was this serious.

"Cecaniah."

"Schneizel."

He took a seat across from her and quiet settled into the spacious bedroom.

"The Weiss Ritter has just declared war on the ."

"I heard."

He nodded. "There are some things I would like to discuss with you, my love. It is imperative that you realize that many aspects of our lives will be changing with this war."

"I don't mind," she intoned passively.

"The Hóng Hè are not one to trifle with, even for the Weiss Ritter. I've assigned someone to accompany you wherever you go for your protection."

"Who?"

"Lelouch Lamperouge."

She stared, refusing to believe him. "… Lelouch Lamperouge is the one who's going to be staying with me for my protection."

"He'll be assuming his responsibilities tomo—"

"Why not Sayoko? Or Jeremiah? I'm sure they would—"

"No. They don't kill, and I refuse to allow harm to befall you. Lelouch Lamperouge is the only man who fits the requirements out of the individuals I trust most. I—"

"Did he have anything to do with this?" she demanded. He replied that he had no part in the decision being made.

C.C. sneered. "So this is all your doing."

"Cecaniah—"

"It's all _your_ doing, _you're_ the cause of this."

"Cecaniah, my love, you know I—"

"I know what? What do I know? That you tore apart a young man and woman who had nothing but each other? Yes, I know that extremely well, Schneizel, thank you for being so gracious to go as far as giving me a reminder my every waking moment by placing him so close to me. I—"

"My love, this arrangement—"

"You promised me. You promised me that you would keep him away from me, so why are you doing this to me, Schneizel? I trusted you, and I made no protest when you told me that we would be having dinner with him. I did just as you requested. But why must you feel the need to do this? Haven't you had enough?"

He said nothing as she broke down in front of him.

"Assign someone else, Schneizel. Anyone else, I don't care who it is as long as it's not him. I'm sure the Weiss Ritter has more than one killer within its organization, send—"

"I'm sorry, my love, but this is in your best interest. The person I trust most to keep you safe is Lelouch, Cecaniah. I'm sorry, but I can't risk your life because of the absence of reason within men who have too much power."

She only wept, and he embraced his wife.

"It's true. I do know about your past with him. And I do apologize, my love, for forcing you to suffer in this way. But Lelouch Lamperouge is obedient, and a gentleman. I've observed him for a long time, and he is undeniably a man of his word. He's proven to me that he won't betray me and will do as he's told. He is the only individual capable of this role. It upsets me that it has to be like this, but this is the only way I can be sure of your survival, my love. Please understand what a difficult decision this was."

She merely buried her head into his chest, her warm, salty tears soaking his shirt.

Lies. They were all lies.

She cried, and cried, and cried, even when her husband was kissing her. Even when he was carrying her to their bed and untying her silk nightgown. As he leaned over her and performed the sacred ritual performed by husband and wife, C.C. wept.

For her future, for the pain that was yet to come, the torture.

For her heart, Cecaniah Corabelle shed tears of despair.

. . .

Shirley gawked as she stepped through the doorway. It was absolutely _enormous_, an entire palace in its own right. He lived here? _Alone?_ How much money did he receive on pay day to be able to live in such a… An elite, high-class place such as this? Shirley had always read about them in the tabloids, or on the internet, whenever some celebrity decided to splurge just to show off how little they cared for materialistic wealth, but she could never have thought that she would know someone who lived in one of the multi-million dollar apartments, that she would be able to step into one of these flats, much less the penthouse…

It was like a dream.

An absolute dream.

There was a wall made entirely of windows where one could undoubtedly look out over the city's harbor in the early mornings and bask in the magnificent splendor of the rising sun. Elegant furniture stood proudly in their rooms, as if they knew how fortunate they were to live in such a luxurious home. There was even a _spiral_ staircase, which meant that _there was at least a second floor, never mind a third_. A second floor! And a pool! There it was, shimmering on the spacious patio outside, lit up with the illumination countless, hidden spotlights offered.

It was a never-ending apartment, an apartment without a limit on rooms and space. An apartment made of magic.

"Would you like some tea?"

"T-tea?" Shirley followed his voice into one of the most glamorous kitchens she had ever rested her eyes on. She tried not to gape.

"I also have coffee, mineral water, and juice hand-squeezed from various fruits. To be honest, I'm not quite sure which fruits specifically, but Anya should know, and—"

"Anya? Who's Anya?" A second woman, possibly?!

"The housekeeper." He rubbed the back of his neck abashedly as he confessed, "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a workaholic; Anya makes sure dust is kept off of the furniture and that the kitchen is stocked with fresh food whenever I bother coming home."

"Is… Is she here right now, or…?"

"She didn't come today since it's Friday. Why?"

"N-nothing. Um, do you have some chai tea?"

"I should. Ah, here it is. Why don't you go sit down in the living room, and I'll join you once the tea is finished brewing."

She nodded before scampering towards the milky white leather sofa. The crystal chandelier overhead winked at her, glinting off of the glass coffee table and reflecting off of the plasma TV. As she gazed all around her, Shirley couldn't help but worry.

She had yet to ask him if he truly loved her. They had gone for dinner, and she had asked him how his day had been, and what had happened to his hand since it was wrapped in gauze that hadn't been there in the morning, to which he replied that his day had been fine and that he had had a minor accident in which he hadn't been careful enough. When he had seen her frown, he had smile, promising to be more careful in the future, and that had been it. That had been all of the questions she had asked him.

Why couldn't she ask him? It was a simple question. Everyone did it. It wasn't as if she was breaking a rule by asking him, she was only asking for confirmation, for reassurance, so it wasn't as if he could get angry for her wanting to know for certain.

… But what if he did get angry? And what if his answer was no, that he didn't love her? What would she do then? What _could_ she do? She didn't want to fight with him, but there was also a burning desire within her to know, to hear from him, that he loved her, and it—

Huh? What was this?

Tilting her head to the side, she blinked at the overturned photographs lying messily on the coffee table. Pictures? Of what? She reached for them before stopping short. Wait… Wasn't this an invasion of privacy? What if Lelouch didn't want her to look at them? But… But if he didn't want anyone to look at them, why would they be out in plain view? And besides. What could he possibly be hiding? She already knew that he was in the mafia for the goodness' sake, it wasn't as if there could be anything wor…

It was Lelouch. A younger Lelouch, in his late teens, early twenties, who was trying to cover the camera lens with his hands, a partially annoyed, partially embarrassed expression on his face. How cute. Smiling, Shirley reached for the rest of the photos, wondering what other adorable snapshots she would discover. Some fluttered to the rug, and she berated herself for being so clumsy as she bent down to pick them up. Why was she always dropping things, and…

It was Mrs. Corabelle.

She looked much younger, and much, much, _much_ happier and carefree. She was even smiling, her usual frown, her customary mask of apathy, nowhere to be seen. Lelouch was also there, and they were both wearing graduation caps and gowns. Lelouch was carrying her, as if she were a bride, as if she were _his_ bride. There had apparently been a light breeze at the time, because her long emerald tresses were fluttering in the wind, mingling with the petals of cherry blossoms that were floating about. It looked like a scene straight out of a movie, like a romantic-comedy or something that she would have loved to watch, if only it weren't her boyfriend and some other woman starring in it.

Shirley felt her throat tighten.

Why had he been looking at these? He had clearly been, if they were out here. But why? Why? And what did it mean? Did… Did— What was the meaning of these pictures? Why were they out here, as if he had been studying them, as if he had been reflecting on some period in his life she hadn't been a part of? It—

A tiny gasp escaped her as the pictures were taken out of her fingers. Looking up, she saw that it was the raven-haired man. He gave her a tight smile before swiftly carrying the incriminating photographs far away from prying eyes that were trying their best not to shed tears.

It was a long time before any one of them spoke.

"Um… Lelouch?"

"… Yes, Shirley?" He returned from wherever it was that he had hid the evidence, completely guarded against her. She could tell that he had put up a wall, that he was preparing himself for her reaction, bracing himself. It only made her feel even more miserable.

"… Mrs. Corabelle told me that you met in high school. I guess that's true?"

"… What she said is correct," he replied slowly.

"Um… Um, Lelouch, you don't have to answer this, but, um… What exactly was your relationship?"

"I told you, Shirley," he said in a patient voice. He sat down besides her, offering her her warm cup of chai tea. "She's the wife of the Weiss Köni—"

"No, I mean… I don't mean what _is_ your relationship. I mean what _was_ it?"

There was silence, in which Shirley didn't dare look at his face. She was afraid that if she did, she'd see the truth she feared so much, and that she would burst into tears. And she decided that if she were going to say goodbye to him, she at least wanted to do it in a dignified fashion, not as a blubbering mess. So she studied the cup of tea as she waited for him to answer.

"… We were friends."

"F… Friends?"

"We were only friends, Shirley. There was nothing more to it," he lied. Well, it was a half-lie. It was true that he and C.C. had been friends in high school. In fact, they had been the best of friends, incredibly close with another. But what he had fed Shirley was just half of the truth, an incomplete lie, for though they had been friends during high school, they had been in love, though it wasn't until college that they had moved on to the next level. So, technically speaking, he told himself, he hadn't lied to Shirley. He just hadn't disclosed everything to her. Not that he wouldn't shy away from deceiving her, from lying to her. There were just some things she didn't need to know, some things he didn't feel like sharing. Some things she wouldn't, couldn't understand. It was for the best, to keep her in the dark. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

"Shirley, I—"

"Have you… Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Leaving?" He stared at her tight grip, her trembling hands locked around the mug of tea, as she said, "The mafia. Have you ever thought about quitting?"

He blinked at her before a dark chuckle accidentally slipped out. Confused, she frowned and looked up. Had she said something funny? Why was he laughing at her? She was being honest. She truly had been wondering if he had ever considered leaving the dangerous life he led for a quieter, safer one. So why was he laughing at her?

He leaned back into the sofa before replying, "You speak of desertion as if it were as easy as walking out of a room. They would kill me."

"Isn't that only if you become an informant for the law? I'm sure you wouldn't—"

"Besides… As the capobastone of the Weiss Ritter, I'm earning an average of $12 million a week simply by breathing. What occupation is there in the world that would support the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to?"

What a stupid question she had asked. Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ Shirley. _Stupid!_ How could she think to ask such a dumb question? $12 million! Of course there was a reason why he hadn't left the mafia. Money, and the threat of being hunted down would be enough to scare any man or woman into staying. She looked up, the beginning of an apology, already on her lips, when he said in a soft voice, "I know you only asked because you're concerned for my safety, Shirley. There's no need to berate yourself for caring about someone."

"But it—"

"It's fine, Shirley. I'm sorry, for laughing when you were being sincere. It's just… After spending the entire day with Mafioso, it's a little difficult to remember that there are people left in the world who sincerely care and worry for others."

Lelouch internally cursed. He had overdone it, he had over-calculated. Now she was struggling with guilt, guilt for not being so understanding; she was probably thinking about how selfish she was, and how she was a terrible girlfriend. She had begun to waver, if she hadn't already, as she became increasingly unsure of herself, of whether she really deserved to be in this relationship.

She was going to break up with him.

He wasn't going to let that happen. He needed her. Not in the way that their connection required, should have elicited. But he did, that was undeniable. He needed Shirley Fenette, he needed her to act as a guard, as a wall against Schneizel. And he wasn't going to let her slip away from him; he had invested far too much time in her to allow that to happen.

"Shirley."

"Lelouch, I… Are you— Lelouch, why are we in a relationship? I mean… Is… Is this just a, a joke to you, or—"

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers every so lightly with just enough pressure, just enough emotion, to satisfy her. It was quick and chaste, but when he pulled away, her cheeks were painted a bright red and her eyes were wide open. The corner of his lip twitched. It had worked.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked gently.

"I…" She had been rendered completely speechless. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, as he began to recite the lines his silver tongue was handing to him.

"I'm sorry, Shirley, if I haven't been very loving to you. It was an inexcusable to treat you in such a way, and I'd like to apologize. Will you forgive me?"

It's… I… I understand, it's… It's okay. I'm sorry too, for doubting you…"

He smiled at her, pleased with himself. He had her wrapped around his finger so long as he kept bribing her like this from time to time. He did feel a flicker of guilt at leading her on; she did seem like a nice person, a pretty girl (though short hair didn't really suit her, not that he particularly liked women with short hair in the first place). Pity she wasn't his type. Pity she wasn't C.C.

That was right. She wasn't C.C., she was Shirley Fenette.

And quite frankly, that made all the difference to Lelouch, for Cecaniah Corabelle was the only one he loved and would ever love.

. . .

She slipped out of bed easily. It wasn't as if it was difficult to. Her husband wasn't touchy-feel, he wasn't a very intimate person. Unlike Lelouch, who had always embraced her afterwards, refusing to let go even in his sleep. Not that she had minded. It wasn't as if she had ever wanted to leave his arms in the first place.

Wrapping her silk robe around her unclothed frame, she wandered out onto the balcony. Closing the French doors behind her with a soft click, she stood alone, shivering in the chilly autumn night. The moon gleamed at her from above, and she brought her hand up to the light.

There it was. Her wedding ring, silently twinkling at her, as if one of the countless stars from above had landed on her finger.

She knelt down onto the ground.

It had been a long time since she had prayed. She had been raised as a Catholic when she had been younger, and the world had been softer. Not a devout follower, but a catholic who was still faithful enough to go to Mass every Sunday morning. Of course, over the years, as the world had become harder and more unforgiving, she had gone less, and les, until she could no longer truly call herself a person of the Catholic faith. But still… Somewhere inside her lay the remnants of the little girl who had once worshipped God. Maybe she was still in there somewhere, hidden underneath the layers of weariness shrouding her.

"Dear Heavenly Father… Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time. Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace. Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will. That I maybe be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him. Forever in the next. Amen."

She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the gentle face of the moon.

"All the bright, precious things fade so fast." She quietly whispered to herself the words he had often told her, unable to draw comfort from them as she once had. "And they don't come back."

Only this time, instead of finishing the way he had, with a kiss and a, "But I couldn't' care less since I have you," she spoke to her tears in a rough, uneven voice.

"They don't come back."

Somewhere, miles off, at the heart of the city of Pendragon, a young man with raven locks and brooding amethyst eyes looked up to stare unblinkingly at the very same moon. He said nothing, and simply stood still, silently studying the heavens.

Shirley had left long ago, immensely heartened by their first kiss, thus leaving the prince alone in his cold, lifeless castle.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end.

He felt a peculiar mixture of emotions. Anger was definitely one of them. Anger towards himself for putting himself in this situation, anger at the imbeciles who had the audacity to attempt to overthrow the Weiss Ritter, anger at Schneizel for taking C.C. away from him, for keeping her hidden from him, and anger towards the witch herself, for leaving him.

Fury simmered within him, but he knew that, underlying the screaming, raging Anger, was the strange fluttering of Anxiety and the intoxicating singing of Love. For the first time in four long years, Lelouch Lamperouge felt unsure of himself. He didn't know what kind of frame of mind he had had to have to successfully pass through this, he wasn't prepared for a situation like this, a situation that offered catastrophic outcomes only.

He didn't pray. He wouldn't pray. Unlike C.C., he hadn't been a very religious person. Not that she had been the most orthodox of Catholics either. But they were different in the way that he had abandoned God (or was it that God had abandoned him?) the moment he found himself completely and utterly alone in the world, his parents and sister cruelly stolen from him at the tender age of 4, while she had turned to Him for guidance, or at least some comfort.

He had always been alone until he had met C.C. How cruel it was of her to give him a taste of ambrosia, a peek of Elysium, before snatching it away from him. At least before he had met her, he couldn't really make any comparisons. But with C.C…. With C.C., he had realized that the decade he had lived through before he had stumbled upon her when he had won that scholarship for that elite private school had been a decade of loneliness. That his world had been one of darkness, until she led him towards the light, before she pointed out the silver lining to every cloud, whether it was intentional or not.

Lelouch prided himself on being prepared, and if not prepared, at least able to make swift decisions that allowed him to bypass the unexpected, and often life-threatening, situations unscathed.

But tomorrow…

He was ill-prepared and ill-equipped to deal with tomorrow, for tomorrow held the promise of a disaster of epic proportions that not even he could evade.

He didn't have a solution. He had nothing, he couldn't even do damage-control. There was just no other way but to simply accept the full force of the… The tsunami that was heading his way.

Lelouch Lamperouge wasn't scared. He had forgotten long ago what fear was. But he was confused, and if there was anything he learned about the underworld, then it was that confusion was often worst, and more fatal, than fear.

Tomorrow was most definitely the beginning of the end.

Indubitably.

. . .

"Madame, Mr. Lamperouge has arrived. He's currently waiting in the foyer for you."

"I understand. Thank you, Sayoko."

The maid nodded as her mistress rose from her seat. She stared at her reflection.

It was only brunch, she told herself. That was all. A small brunch at the Haven Rooftop at the Sanctuary Hotel. That was all to it, it was like any other day. She would go to the restaurant as was her custom where a table reserved by the staff would be waiting for her, regardless of whether she had actually called ahead or not. Nothing would be different, she reminded herself. Today would be just like any other day.

Everything would be different.

It was _not_ like any other day, it would be the farthest it could be from her usual day.

As she descended the staircase, she chanted a mantra to herself with every step she took.

_Brunch._

_ Hair appointment._

_ Brunch._

_ Hair appointment._

_ Brunch._

_ Hair appointment._

_ Brunch._

_ Hair appointment._

_ Bru_—

"Good morning, Mrs. Corabelle."

He was being amiable, business-like. Polite, but distant. Good. She silently watched as he lifted her hand to his lips in greeting.

"Mr. Lamperouge."

"Shall we begin?"

She smiled stiffly before reclaiming her hand and slipping out of the house. It was a beautiful autumn morning outside. The sky was an impossible shade of blue. No one could have guessed that her world had come crashing down around her ears the evening before, that the world's most feared criminal syndicate had begun to mobilize for war.

And as the car pulled away from the Schachmatt to the Haven Rooftop, with Jeremiah at the steering wheel and Sayoko in the passenger seat as always, C.C. couldn't help but wonder.

The man seated besides her had asked her if she'd like to begin.

Begin what?

What beginning was there for the two of them? Beginnings weren't meant for them, endings were, and they had been robbed of even that. What in the world did he mean by beginning? What would begin?

Why, her very own personal apocalypse of course. What else?

Silly Cecaniah.

Silly, silly, Cecaniah.


	4. Blueberries

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

* * *

Chapter Four: Blueberries

* * *

Breakfast. What a strange phenomena. A meal eaten in the morning, the first of the three. To be honest, Lelouch couldn't remember the last time he had had breakfast. He knew he shouldn't skip, that it was bad for his health, as Anya liked to frequently remind him, but he never heeded her chastising. She would smile, triumphant, if she were to see him here, sitting down in a terrace of one of the highest buildings in the city to eat the meal he had always tried his best to avoid.

It was silent for the most part. The clinking of silverware, the occasional brusque crackling of the perfectly toasted baguette. Even Pendragon's heavily occupied streets couldn't reach them, not at this lofty height.

Pity that this lofty height couldn't save him from his current company.

As he raised his glass of water to his lips, he studied her out of the corner of his eye.

His first thought was: 'God, she's beautiful.'

And she was. She was only thirty-years old, still considered to be young by many. Her silky emerald tresses glinted in the morning sun as they flowed down her shoulders and to her waist, her milky-white skin smooth and creamy, her rosebud lips painted a delicate red, her fingers adroit and lithe. But her eyes… Oh, her eyes. Lelouch had always loved her eyes. Years ago, he might have told her, had probably whispered to her, that he had fallen in love with her eyes. They had glimmered with a mischievous light, golden perfection.

But they were dull with money now, and what other troubles weighed on her small shoulders. They had been sapped of all life by the world and its sadistic ways. It tore at him. Such beauty, lost forever… And it made him wonder; would the world ever be fortunate to gaze upon such splendor again?

"Can I help you with anything, Mr. Lamperouge?" she asked. She was keeping herself in check, to be civil; he could tell. She'd had to do it often in the last few months together as the stress of her insolvent circumstances had eaten away at her. He could never forget it then, and he still hadn't. Apparently, he wasn't going to in the future either.

"I was just wondering what today's agenda held for us today," he replied, just as amiably and politely as she had spoken. She stared at him as if she hadn't been prepared for him to treat her with so much courtesy. A light autumn breeze passed through, stirring the cloth napkins and ruffling his midnight hair, before she seemed to catch herself.

"I have an 1:00 appointment at John Frieda, which will take us into lunch, which will be at Eleven Madison Park."

"I understand."

Silence resumed pacing back and forth between them again. Good. It was better this way. Lelouch felt that in the case that he were to say something, he would either say something foolish or churlish (probably both), and he refused to break the uneasy ceasefire they had both wordlessly agreed upon.

He fought to swallow, but no matter how hard he tried to shove it down his throat, the expensive gourmet dish tasted like complete cardboard. He didn't blame the chef; he or she had probably done their utmost best to serve their faithful and high-class client nothing short of perfection, and there was a better than good chance that there was something wrong with him rather than the food, but he just… Couldn't… Do it. Sitting here, eating breakfast with her again, was the key to opening the dam of memories he had been so careful to keep locked and secure, and it was killing him. It was better now though, when there was food in front of them, food to put into their mouths as an excuse for the absence of conversation, than when the waitress had left them to wait alone for their orders to materialize in front of them. That had just been terrible, completely awkward as they both did their best to avoid talking.

The raven-haired man's fingers twitched. He wanted a smoke, to help calm his nerves, to alleviate the stress and the tension biting at him. But he couldn't just leave her for a cigarette; the entire purpose of his following her was so that she wouldn't be alone. Which he was having issues with. Why was it only him? At the very least, it should have been two guards. But just a solitary knight? It was most likely because of Schneizel and his peculiar penchant for the interesting choice, rather than the wiser one. As a matter of fact, he suspected the Weiss König of wedding C.C. simply for the eccentricity of the decision, and what "interesting" results it would lend. If he hadn't married her for love.

What. A. Bastard.

Lelouch caught himself furtively glancing at the witch seated across from him. She was eating blueberries, which surprised him. Blueberries? C.C. hated blueberries, detested them, and any other berries for the matter. So why was she demurely nibbling on them? And what else about her had changed?

"Mrs. Corabelle."

"Yes?"

"Have you always liked blueberries?" The second the words tumbled out, the Mafioso cursed. What had possessed him to ask such a question when he full well knew that it would breach their unsaid agreement, violate their armistice? He wanted to throw himself off of the building. There was no doubt that the jump would kill him. They were certainly high enough off the ground.

Violet clashed with gold as they stared at one another, both of their expressions unreadable. He waited for her reply, strung out. He didn't trust himself to take back the question; he'd probably only serve to make the present predicament worse, and God knew they needed _that_.

She slowly set her fork down, slowly swallowed the blueberry in her mouth, before slowly answering. "No, I have not always liked blueberries, Mr. Lamperouge, but my husband enjoys them, so I learned to appreciate them as much as he does over time."

"… I see." He told himself to relax; his voice had been too strained, his smile too tight. The situation was deteriorating at a frightening speed. This was the very reason he tried to skip it altogether, his enemy. He should probably shut up for the rest of the damn breakfast. Maybe for the rest of the day.

God, that had been close. Way too close for his comfort. As Lelouch picked his glass of water (his throat was suddenly incredibly parched for some reason) when he nearly choked. _Shit, not here, not now_. And before he could even set his water down, he heard an excited, "Oh, my God!"

For the fourth time that breakfast, Lelouch swore as he rearranged his face into that of a smile as the last person he wanted to see cheerfully bounded towards their table.

"Lelouch! My, my, fancy seeing you here. I see we've climbed the social ladder since the last time we've met. And who's this? No, it can't be! C2! Is that really you?"

The emerald-haired woman looked up in shock at the unmistakable sound of their old college classmate, Milly Ashford's voice. What…?

"It is! This is crazy; Rivalz isn't going to believe this. You know, we tried so hard to get in touch with you, Lelouch, but you just vanished, and it… Oh. Oh, I get it now…" The senior adopted a sly smirk. "You two just came back from your honeymoon, didn't you? You did! Christ, look at the size of that diamond, it must have cost a _fortune_. Where'd you manage to get it from, Lelouch? Did you rob a bank or something?"

"A custom jeweler in Italy, globally renown for his genius works. It took several months of meticulous planning and $12 million, but Ceci said yes in the end, so I don't regret anything."

C.C. sharply turned her attention towards the smiling man. Oh God, her heart was racing, her stomach fluttering from hearing him call her 'Ceci.' It had been so long, and it opened up so many memories to her, memories of a time when she had been happier, and it was poisoning her, breaking down her defenses. And now here they were, playing as husband and wife. A _loving_ husband and wife no less.

It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

Everything was muffled to her as her world collapsed until it solely contained him and him only; she just stared, stunned, as he put an end to Milly's visit with a promise to call her and invite her to dinner to their home. She just stared as Milly smiled and waved goodbye to her, and she just stared as the raven-haired man calmly returned to eating his breakfast as if nothing had happened, as if his words hadn't left her breathless. It wasn't until he reached for one of the pristine cloth napkins to wipe nonexistent food off of his lips when she said, "… What was that?"

"What was what?" So they were dropping the façade, even if it was temporarily. That was fine with her. Mrs. Corabelle didn't get answers; C.C. did. And what she wanted were answers.

"How can you act as if you're the one who gave me this ri—"

"Would you rather her ask you what you're doing here, eating brunch with a man who isn't your husband?" _A man who had once been your fiancé?_ He didn't say the last part. He was stupid; he had proven that with his slip of the tongue earlier, but he wasn't _that_ stupid. Apparently neither was C.C. because she dropped the subject.

For the rest of the meal, neither spoke. Which was fine with Lelouch. That way, there was less margin for error, and more room for distance. Which was just what they needed.

Cold, hard distance.

. . .

Life had changed so much. These hair stylists, who boasted illustrious careers and prestigious, were practically tripping over themselves to please C.C. They were all bright smiles and reverence; it was ironic how if she had walked in four years earlier, they'd probably treat her with disdain and disrespect. Money changed everything in this world, didn't it?

Lelouch heard the head stylist rapturously lay laud on the emerald-haired woman from his seat, how she had such thick and healthy hair, hair such a unique, beautiful color.

Money certainly did change everything.

He could feel the gun waiting silently in its holster, the eager bullets, and a wry smile appeared on his stiff countenance. How different their lives had become… When he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, he reached into his jacket and took it out to find out who was calling him: Shirley.

He glanced at his ward; she wouldn't miss him for the thirty seconds it would take to tend to her. Rising from his seat, he slipped outside to the balcony.

"Shirley." He warned himself to be careful; gentle and loving, he reminded himself. It wouldn't do to destroy all of the work he had done.

"Lelouch! How are you? Are you okay? I… I watched the news, and they were saying something how the Weiss Ritter had declared open war on the Hóng Hè, and I was worried that— You're okay, right?"

"I'm fine," he said gently. "The Weiss König put me far from the front lines. You don't have to worry about me. But Shirley."

"H-huh?"

"While I'm working, can you refrain from calling?" Lelouch looked over his shoulder; she was still sitting in the chair, safe and alive. Good. "I hate to ask you of something like this, but I have to protect Mrs. Corabelle, and it would be best if I didn't step away from her for even a second any more than I have to already."

"O-oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know… I promise I won't," she stammered, indubitably flustered and worried that she had made him angry. "But, um… Lelouch, I was wondering if I could talk to Mrs. Corabelle."

"Mrs. Corabelle?"

"I… If I can't, then it's understandable, but… But I was just… Wondering if I could… If I could ask her something." He could just picture Shirley, nervously twirling her shoulder-length ginger hair around a finger as her eyes wandered to the ceiling shyly. He bit back the urge to sigh. "Let me see what I can do. Give me a second."

"O-okay, thank you!"

Lelouch frowned; why would Shirley want to talk to C.C.? What did she even have to say? They were completely unrelated, belonged in opposing worlds. Shirley was part of the working class, while C.C. belonged in a world of champagne and forgiveness. What did she want?

"Madame."

Her golden eyes flickered to his reflection in the mirror as he bent down so that he was closer to her ear, so that his warm breath was tickling her.

"Miss Shirley Fenette has requested an audience with you by means of a phone call."

Her facial expression didn't change, didn't even register surprise that someone beneath her wanted to speak to her, and simply held out a slender hand for his phone. Waving away the hair stylist, she raised it to her ear. Lelouch straightened up but didn't walk away. She wouldn't care if he feigned deafness. So he did just that.

"Miss Fenette. What an unexpected pleasure."

"O-oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Corabelle! How are you today?"

"Well, thank you. I hope you're also feeling well today?"

"Y-yes, thank you for asking."

An awkward silence ensued and C.C. studied her nails; she decided she'd need a manicure soon. Perhaps a shade of light blue this time? Or maybe she should get a classic French. Yes, that was a good idea; she'd get a French manicure. One could never do wrong with a—

"Mrs. Corabelle, I was wondering if you'd like to go to a club with Georgie and myself later tonight," she blurted out. The elegant madame blinked. A club?

"… A club?"

"A… A nightclub. Georgie and I were planning to go with a few coworkers, kind of as a way to relieve stress, and I… Was… Just wondering if you'd like to go with us. I understand if you can't, I—"

"Hello? Mrs. Corabelle?" This was a new voice, a foreign voice she had never heard of before. C.C.'s frown deepened; who was this person? And why had she interrupted Shirley? "Hi, this is Georgie Lee, I work at Kingston Hall with Shirley, and we would like to go clubbing with you tonight. So can you?"

She was taken aback; it had been four years since she had been addressed in such a frank manner, especially by a stranger. It felt peculiar, as if she had been displaced out of her body.

"… I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I have someone waiting for me at home, and I—"

"Oh, I'm sure your husband won't mind you coming out for one night to have some fun. You look like you need it."

"I really—"

"If you don't come, then Shirley's boyfriend can't either. Are you really going to rip apart two people who love each other?"

_Rip apart two people who love each other?_ What did this woman know about the separation of lovers? Had she ever experienced it? Had she ever been forced to leave the man she loved so that he could live? Had she ever had to slip her engagement ring off and leave it behind in her place? Had to struggle every morning to wake up despite the grieving heart? No, she hadn't. What the hell did she know? _Absolutely nothing_.

She refused to be like Schneizel. She didn't know if Lelouch and Shirley truly loved one another, it could be lust, infatuation, whatever, it didn't matter; she only knew that she loathed Schneizel and what he'd done to her, to Lelouch, and that she would never follow in his footsteps.

"… I suppose I could make arrangements…"

"That's the spirit! Can you tell Prince Charming that his princess will text him the details later? We'll see you tonight then! You promised!"

She hung up before C.C. could even respond, leaving her feeling disoriented. When the stylist returned to his post, her reverie shattered and she handed the slim phone back to its owner.

"… Mr. Lamperouge."

"Yes, Madame?"

"… Miss Fenette will be sending you a text message soon that will have the details of our excursion later this evening."

"Excursion…?" He was confused. She didn't blame him; she'd be confused too, if her dull superior had suddenly decided to go clubbing.

"You and I, Mr. Lamperouge, are apparently going to a nightclub with Miss Fenette and Miss Lee."

"… I see." He was choosing his words carefully, discreetly. Because he wasn't sure what the appropriate reaction was. C.C. wanted to shoot herself; she had been rash, hasty, and had agreed to sign the devil's contract. She couldn't remember the last time she had gone clubbing, had ventured out into the city at night for plebeian forms of entertainment. And she had no desire to. _Shit_.

She was sure to regret it. Just as she regretted the majority of her life. After all, was her life but a series of mistakes, of errors that would eventually lead to damnation?

. . .

Shirley shivered as the cold autumn wind grazed her. It was cold outside, but not _that_ cold; she wouldn't have been hugging herself if she had dressed for the weather, but if she had, then she wouldn't have been let into the club.

"Shirls."

"What?"

Georgie rubbed her arms as she asked, "Why are we here?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"I thought the plan was that we were going to the Lucky Rabbit. Why are we at the Blessed Isles?"

"O-oh. Lelouch asked if we could go to the Blessed Isles instead."

"Shirley, how are we going to get in?" demanded Kallen. "The Blessed Isles is literally the top nightclub in Pendragon. We don't have any connections, and I don't know about you, but I am _not_ sleeping with one of the bouncers. I… Holy shit."

Shirley turned around to see what had surprised Kallen so much. It was like something out of a movie. The A-list actress in a sexy mini-dress with the male lead decked out in a chic, form-fitting suit, and both too perfect to be real humans… She watched as they crossed the street and couldn't help notice how Lelouch, her boyfriend, had his hand on Mrs. Corabelle's waist, albeit lightly. She couldn't help but notice how perfect they looked together, how well-matched they looked, how beautiful they were. Were they humans? Or angels? It was hard to tell.

Agatha let out a low whistle as if to express how stunned she was by the pair. "Damn, they look _good_. I'm starting to feel like some prepubescent kid compared to them. Don't you agree, Georgie?"

"I'll be right back, I just gotta take this call." She slipped out from their place in the never-ending line, her phone pressed to her ear. Agatha warned her to come back soon before whispering, "Is that Mrs. Corabelle? She's _married?_ What the hell?"

Shirley merely tugged on the hem of her short dress before raising her hand and calling out to him with a determined, "Lelou!"

His eyes, which had been focused somewhere over his shoulder, drifted towards her. He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his cold, calculating gaze, at her appearance and they made their way towards the small group.

"Lelouch!"

"Shirley." He gave her a peck on the lips before cordially greeting the rest of the members of the get-together. Shirley, smiling now that she had his attention, said, "Everyone, this is Mrs. Corabelle."

"Cecaniah," the emerald-haired woman replied. "Calling me with such a title reminds me of how old I'm getting, something I'm sure all of us ladies would rather avoid thinking about."

The women giggled in agreement and C.C. smiled. If she just acted like this for the rest of the time, let them in enough, then there wouldn't be any trouble. Which was good. The last thing she needed right now were spurned women nipping at her heels.

"Oh, my God, that dress! Is that the one featured in the Chanel Fall collection?"

"You're interested in haute couture?"

"It's my _life!_" squealed Agatha. "Oh, my God, I never thought I'd be able to see it in real life! It must have been so expensive!"

"On the contrary, it was a gift from Alain and Gerard, though I do suppose it was a rather superfluous one."

"You don't mean Alain and Gerard Wertheimer, do you? The owners of Chanel?"

"The very ones."

Agatha let out a tiny scream of excitement as Georgie rejoined them. "What did I miss? Oh, Mrs. Corabelle! Lelouch!"

"Cecaniah knows Alain and Gerard Wertheimer in person!"

"Who's that?" she asked blankly. Kallen shrugged and muttered, "These two guys who own Chanel or something like that."

"Oh, well then. Looks like we have a Queen in our midst," she joked.

Lelouch saw C.C. stiffen and intervened before any more damage could be done.

"Why don't we go inside?"

"Well, we'd like to, but the line—" The raven-haired man cut his girlfriend off. "That's unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?"

"We can go in right now."

"But the line… And, and the bouncer, he—"

"Will let us in. Follow me. Mrs. Corabelle." The graceful madam tucked her hair behind her ear as she allowed him to guide her through the scraggly line. Light green eyes fixated on his hand, which was on Mrs— Cecaniah's waist. Shirley felt her chest tighten; was that really necessary?

They came to a stop in front of the doors of the elite night club, and the women peeked over Cecaniah's shoulder to see Shirley's boyfriend extend his right hand to the beefy doorman. He glanced down with an intimidating light in his eyes, before surprisingly stepping aside. Even more surprising was the way he slightly bowed his head in deference to the couple as they entered the crème de la crème of discotheques. It made them wonder: Were the two really that powerful to make even the most formidable and intrepid of men to cower?

Word must've spread like fire who had just arrived at the Blessed Isles, because when they descended the long stairwell to the underworld of Pendragon, a regiment of suited staffers were waiting for them. They bowed in unison, their greeting rivaling even the pounding music of the nightclub as a slender, well-dressed man stepped forward. Gracefully taking Cecaniah's hand, he delicately kissed her knuckles before speaking to her with a lilting French accent.

"Ah, Madame Corabelle! It is the greatest honor to be in your presence! Je vous remercie pour cette occasion, Madame. We shall do our utmost best to serve you." As if on cue, the rows of men and women clicked their heels together and spoke as one.

"Welcome to the Blessed Isles, Madame, where your wish is our command."

"Thank you, Augustin. You flatter me."

And with a gracious smile, she slipped by him. The Frenchman hurriedly moved to the side to make room for the couple and entourage, all the while shaking his head and muttering how ravishing she was.

The second the hallway cleared of any esteemed clientele, Augustin clapped his hands. "Ladies and gentleman, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! It would be a sin against God if we were to squander what the gift He has given us! No expenses are to be spared! It is imperative that we please the Madame, else the Weiss König shall have our heads on a platter! Vas-y, vas-y, vas-y! Dépèchez-vous!"

And thus, the insignificant worker ants scattered so as to serve their glamorous Queen.

. . .

Georgie gasped, her hands flying to cover her open mouth. "Oh, my God, this is, like, my favorite song _ever! _I _have_ to dance to this or I swear, I'm just going to kill myself. Come on, Shirls, we have to dance to this song!"

Kallen, feeling slightly woozy from all of the drinks she had had, stood up unsteadily. "Let's do it!" she slurred before falling back into her seat. She put her head down on the table, groaning. "Ugh, I don't feel so good."

"Oh, you're such a party-pooper, Kallen. Agatha! You dancing queen, you! Let's go!"

"Already one step ahead of you!" sang Agatha. Her blonde hair flying behind her, she dove into the sweaty, inebriated throng of dancing clubbers. Georgie tugged on Shirley's hands. "Come on, Shirls, you promised me that you would dance with me. Are you really going to break your promise to me like this? And I was so excited too…"

"But…" She glanced at Mrs. Cora… Er… _Cecaniah_. She didn't look like she was going to go onto the floor anytime soon and it didn't feel quite right just leaving her all alone… Well… All alone with Lelouch. There was just something about leaving the two of them by themselves that made her anxious. Like there was something more to them than they were letting on. They were less tension between them, and they were acting more amicably towards each other than the last time she had seen them together, which was good… She supposed. After all, once you joined the mafia, there was no leaving, no firing. Only killing.

"Go ahead, Shirley," gently urged her boyfriend. He smiled at her. "Don't hold back just because of me."

"But Mrs— I mean, Cecan—"

"I'm fine, Shirley," replied the emerald-haired woman. "It seems I'm not as young as I used to be… I envy you for your energy. Please don't feel an obligation to stay just because of my old age."

"You're not old!" protested the ginger. "Don't even think that for a second. You're still a beautiful, young woman."

C.C. smiled and Shirley felt a warm feeling wash over her. There was just something about making pretty people smile that made one feel so good about oneself…

"Shirley!"

"Just give me a second, Georgie!" Turning back to the pair sitting down, she asked, "Are you sure you're okay with just sitting here?" They nodded, and she decided to just give up. No one liked an unhappy Georgie, especially an unhappy Georgie who was halfway to winning the Completely and Utterly Blitzed Beyond Recovery Award. With a sigh, she gave Lelouch a quick peck before letting herself be pulled away by an excited, drunken Georgie.

Though techno music was deafening them all, the man and woman who had been left behind felt as if they were in a bubble of silence. They were completely isolated from the rest of the carefree occupants of the club in the way that they threw away their ears. They simply sat in mutual brooding, either taking a sip from their respective drinks or nursing them, but never talking. That is, they hadn't been talking until Lelouch heard a soft, "You've been thinking it too, haven't you?"

"… I have," he admitted reluctantly. She nodded slowly, as if she understood him, as if they were on the same side once more. "It looked like it."

"… Since when?" he asked, turning towards her for the first time that evening. She swirled her martini around but refrained from raising it to her lips, which had been crinkled into a wry smile. "This morning. During breakfast."

"… I hadn't realized I could be read so easily."

"You usually don't eat breakfast, do you?"

"How did you know?"

"You've lost a lot of weight, Lelouch, since the last time. And a lot of sleep too, probably, what with how haggard you look… It's a wonder Shirley hasn't caught on yet."

He caught the double entendre. "I haven't slept with her."

"Yet."

"… I don't intend on bedding her if I can avoid it." If he could avoid it. Why? Why was it if he could avoid it? Why did he not plan on sleeping with her? Isn't that what every grown man did with their grown girlfriend? What was holding him back? What was making him circumvent such an event, making him put in an effort to make the probability of such an occurrence taking place as small as possible? Why would he even be held back from such a possibility? It… It wasn't because of her… Was it?

"… Lelouch, I…"

His eyes flickered towards her, seeking her past the strobe lights, the pounding music, the drugs and vapor, and she faltered. When had he gotten so close? Their thighs, knees, and calves were touching. They were so close, his eyelashes were tickling her. She could feel her heart racing, jumping into her throat before diving to the pit of her stomach and climbing back up to her chest. She didn't know why; maybe it was because of the atmosphere of the club was finally getting to her, maybe it was because of the martinis she had been forced to drink, or maybe, _probably_, it was the it was because she had never really stopped loving him, but there was just… Something… About Lelouch that just made her want to… To forget everything that had happened, to admit to herself that she had wanted to run into his arms that night when her husband had revealed who the capobastone was, and just lean forward so that her lips would crash into his and…

"Has anyone seen my clutch?"

Georgie stumbled to their table, bumping into the corner and nearly falling to the ground in pain. Kallen, along with several slim handbags, slipped to the sofa as Lelouch and C.C. stared at one another. The space between their lips was just that of a strand of hair's… They were so close, and yet, so far…

C.C. stood up abruptly.

"Excuse me."

She rushed past the raven-haired man, making her way to the bathroom without so much as a glance over her shoulder.

"H-hey, Shirls, where are you going? You can't just leave me here!"

"I'm just going to the bathroom, Georgie. I'll be right back."

"Urgh… My clutch, my clutch… Where's my damn— Oh!" A bright smile lighting up her face, the intoxicated young woman snatched up her bag before stumbling towards the bathroom. "Wait for me, Shirls, let's go together! God, I have to pee so badly… I shouldn't have had that last shot…"

When he was alone, and the women had disappeared behind the bathroom door, Lelouch buried his face in his hands, completely and utterly drowning in misery. What the fuck had that just been? They had… They were just about to kiss, they had been so close, if they had only had three more seconds… He reproached himself. Control yourself, he ordered. There are no second chances; you fuck it up once, you fuck it up forever. And yet… And yet, even as he beat himself over the almost-kiss, he couldn't stop the ignore the desire to finish what had been started or the euphoria he had felt as she had leaned in with her hooded eyes and beautiful lips partially parted as they inched closer, and closer…

. . .

C.C. stifled a sigh as she examined her reflection. God, that had been too close. Much too close for her comfort. She could still remember the high of being so close to him, the simple of joy of counting each one of his long eyelashes just as she used to, smelling the pleasantly clean pine-forest scent that always came from him even when he was in humid, sweaty places like nightclubs, and, much to her discomfort, it was leaving her breathless. Her traitorous heart. How could it stab her in the back like this? Especially now, of all times, and with _him?_

She needed to calm down, to forget what had almost happened just now. But what could she do? What?

Call _him_.

Hearing his voice never failed to make her smile after all, and she could picture him sitting at the piano, the telephone sitting right next to whatever classical piece he was learning, waiting for her to call him, believing that she'd keep her promise to him. Yes, that was it; she'd call him, chat to him for a little bit to calm her nerves, to get a more solid grip on reality. He'd definitely do that for her. He'd always done that for her, made her smile when she found herself pondering whether death was painful or not; he had been the only one who had made her want to continue living on. For the past four years, he had done that for her, selflessly, and for the next four years, he would continue to do so, along with the four years after that, and the four years after that, and so on.

Taking her phone out, she made to call him when she heard, "Um… Cecaniah?"

"Yes, Shirley?" Irritation flashed through the emerald-haired woman. What did she want? Couldn't she have a moment of peace and quiet for once? A moment to herself? Why had she even felt the urge to trail after her into the powder room?

Shirley nervously picked at her nails, too busy studying the tiled floor to catch her guest's ephemeral countenance of annoyance.

"Um… I was… I was just wondering if you could tell me something about Lelouch… Since you knew him since you guys were in high school."

"I'll try my best to answer any questions you might have," she replied lightly. Shirley fidgeted slightly, biting her lower lip, before blurting out, "What kind of person is Lelouch when he's working?"

There was a very good reason for this query, she reasoned to herself. Earlier, she had tried to get him to play at least a little, but he had shook her off. His eyes, amethysts much flintier than the soft, malleable pools of violet they usually were, had told her that he was still working, that he couldn't because of work, no matter how much he'd like to. And when she had asked him when he would get off of work, when he would be able to take a break and return to the sweet, indulging Lelouch she knew, he had simply replied with the answer of: "When the Hóng Hè surrender to the Weiss Ritter" and an apologetic smile. Then he had kissed her before ushering her out of the corridor she had pulled him into to return to Cecaniah's side. Rushed to her, as if he was scared that she'd vanish. As if Cecaniah Corabelle mattered more to Lelouch Lamperouge than Shirley Fenette, his girlfriend, did.

She was probably over thinking, it was more than likely the alcohol that was messing around with her head, but there was just something in her heart that made her anxious again, even with the smile and the kiss he had given her. Was it… Was it _her_, or was it just working Lelouch? Lelouch the Mafioso, the cold, calculating criminal side of him that was at the heart of the problem? She wasn't quite sure, but if anyone were to know, all bets would be on Cecaniah. She'd known him since high school after all, and his job was protecting her, so she must know. She _must_.

"I don't know."

"You… Don't know?" Well, she hadn't been expecting _this_. She didn't know? How could she not know? As if the madame could read her mind, Cecaniah said, "I don't pay much attention to him, so I confess that I have no clue as to what kind of individual Lelouch Lamperouge is when he's acting as a member of the Weiss Ritter."

"… Cecaniah?"

"Yes?"

"… Why… Why do you and Lelouch hate each other so much?"

Golden irises sharply looked up from the marble counter to her so quickly. Shirley was taken aback. Did they really hate each other that much? Was their relationship really in such ill repair? What the hell had happened between the—

The door opened with a bang and both women started, their heads simultaneously swiveling towards the one and only exit of the bathroom, which was currently being blocked by two tattooed and muscular men whose grins clearly meant no good for them.

. . .

Lelouch ran a hand through his hair. He had to check himself, lest he wished to destroy what little sanity he had left. Then again, perhaps he had never had any, or if he had, he had already lost it all. After all, did he not still love the woman who had left him for another man?

What a pathetic fool he was. Just _pathetic_.

Shirley's friend (Kallen, was it?), rolled over, mumbling in her sleep and he frowned. How distasteful. He raised his tumbler of whiskey to his downturned lips, carefully keeping an eye on the redhead so that she didn't accidentally fall into his lap before glancing at his watch. It was a little past midnight right now, and C.C. had looked tired. Perhaps it was time to go home; he feared that if he were to continue staying here, surrounded by all of this alcohol, he'd fall back on his demons, and he couldn't have that. The love of his life was depending on him to protect her, to keep her alive, and if he were to fall prey to them once more, he might as well have been handing her over to the Hóng Hè all wrapped up in a red rib…

Three men furtively glanced over their shoulders before slipping into the restroom. Which the raven-haired man wouldn't have found suspicious or disconcerting if they had been stealing into the women's bathroom. He stood up, a frown set on his lips. What was going on?

. . .

"G-Georgie? Georgie, what's going on? What are you—"

"Oh, shut up, you slut." Shirley's eyes widened. Why was Georgie being so coarse? What was going on? Why were these two men in here? Why was one of them even restraining her, his hot, rank breath brushing her neck? And why was Georgie standing in the middle of the room with a triumphant sneer? What was going on?!

She doubled over with fits of vicious cackling that chilled her to the core. "Oh man, I just cannot believe my luck! And I was freaking out that we hadn't gone to the Lucky Rabbit like I'd planned. To think that I am going to end the Weiss Königin's life in the lion's den! Just think, the Blessed Isles, the nightclub placed right in the heart of Weiss Ritter territory and owned by the Weiss König himself. Talk about a dream come true. Oh, Mao is just going to get a kick out of this." Taking a dagger out of her clutch, she delicately traced the emerald-haired woman's jawbone with the malevolently glittering blade. "Oh, my God, I cannot believe my luck… To think that you'd be so gullible to take the bait… Does it really hurt you that much? Being forced away from the man you love? Oh, don't look so surprised, sweetheart. We know everything about you, from your favorite dish to what nail polish you're wearing to the moment you first met Leopold down to the very second… We've done our homework, you see, and now we intend to pass the test. You understand what that means, don't you? Oh, am I going to enjoy this." She chuckled darkly and C.C. merely glared at her silently, damning herself for being so careless and foolish. She should have seen this coming.

"Georgie, what—"

"Oh, shut up, Shirley!" The assassin straightened with a look of blatant vexation on her face. Spinning on her heel, she advanced on the ginger captive. "Do you know how frustrating it is to be with you? You're so vapid, so simplistic and ignorant. In fact, you can't even see the truth that's sitting right in front of you, you wouldn't know the truth if it slapped you in the face."

"W-what are you—"

"Lelouch Lamperouge? Your Prince Charming? My God, Shirley, how dense can you be? Um, hello, anybody in that head of yours? Of course not. How can someone be so blind and so happy at the same time? Don't you get it? Lelouch and this woman over here, they used to—"

The door slammed open and Shirley jumped. Who—

Lelouch strode into the room, shooting Georgie before she had even turned around all the way. He quickly dispatched the rest of the bullets in his cartridge, and she watched with horrified eyes as scarlet blood splattered the mirrors and walls, painted the bathroom floor. What…?

C.C. instinctively rushed to the raven-haired man who put a protective arm around her. They were about to run out, when a pair of arms wrapped around his ankle, nearly tripping him. Turning around, he saw Georgie taking out a dagger from a hidden scabbard. Kicking her face, he crushed her hand before shooting her in the head.

And before she could even so much as call out for him, they vanished, leaving Shirley all alone with three corpses and a sea of Mafioso blood.

. . .

"System pattern noire. I need a background check of the Blessed Isle's entire staff with an investigation on Augustin's recent activity. Tell the Weiss König his wife's just been attacked and that I'm isolating the quarry from the hunters. Our electronic footsteps will be erased. Yes. Good. Make sure that you do."

C.C. gripped the edge of her seat as they raced through Pendragon's nightscape. It was the second time that week that she was caught up in a high-speed car chase in which all traffic laws were completely disregarded.

"C2, how many are on our tail?"

She glanced in the side mirror. "Three vans." She glanced at him; he was clenching his teeth in agitation. His knuckles were a pale white on the steering wheel; he was completely rigid with tension.

"Stay down. They're going to start shooting."

As if on cue, the rear window of the car shattered. She didn't say anything, didn't fuss or make any derogatory comments. She wasn't stupid; doing so would only make it more difficult for Lelouch, her champion and her only buffer against death.

She looked out of the window as they left the heart of the city, the center of Weiss Ritter territory, and the Mecca of affluence. The buildings became shorter, their designs more pragmatic than aesthetic, the streets becoming darker and more sinister, for this was the way Pendragon was designed. The beautiful and wealthy on the inside, protected by the less fortunate, the lower-class. It had been a long time since she had ventured out to the plebes, and as they whipped past, fragments of an old life, from another time, pecked and pinched at her already frayed nerves.

_Pendragon City Limit; pop. 9,354,728_.

The green sign was gone before it was completely there. They were out on the highway, darkness closing in on them from all sides and nothing but the bright moon and the car's blinding LED headlights to guide them through the desolate desert.

"C2, do you have your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Good."

And with that, they were swallowed up by the shadows. She gasped as she was thrown back into the leather seat. The car slowed down abruptly, and it felt as if the world were moving forward and she were going backwards. The taillights and headlights were turned off, cloaking them with the night. The only light was from the glowering meters on the dashboard which were illuminating the hard expression set on the raven-haired man's face as he cut over to the opposite lane.

Immediately shifting gears, he twisted around in his seat to see where he was going as they began to literally travel backwards. On her right, C.C. saw three dark blurs fly past her, undoubtedly the Mafioso who had been chasing them. Three minutes passed, five minutes, ten, until Lelouch deemed it safe enough to reveal themselves with the telltale lights. They startled the driver of a pickup truck, making him swear as they sped up so as to put more distance between the two vehicles.

Gears were shifted and they returned to their proper lane. They spun around, the wheels kicking up sand as they turned around to head away from the Hóng Hè and from danger. As she looked out of the window, ignoring her racing heart and the cold blood splattered on her dress, blood that didn't belong to her, C.C. trembled as relief washed over her.

They were safe. They were safe, she wouldn't die.

She wouldn't die. For the time being, she was safe.

Thank the heavens.

Thank the heavens for Lelouch Lamperouge.

* * *

**A/N: It's been a long time since I wrote anything, so it's pretty rough and I'm still in the middle of trying to get back on my feet, but I hope it wasn't so bad. Thank you for reading. As for why and how I came back even when I said I was leaving... There's an explanation on my profile which I hope will suffice.**


	5. Identity

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

* * *

Chapter Five: Identity

* * *

"What are you looking for?"

Lloyd Asplund glanced up absentmindedly before shuffling the mess of research papers and data around on the metallic worktable, shifting through the disarray with a tight frown on his lips.

"Lloyd, what are you looking for?" questioned Cecile. She set down the folder she had been clutching to her chest as if to tell him that she would help him if she would only tell her what he was so busily rooting around for. Pushing his wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, he asked, "Have you seen where my pudding cup is? I set it down because I realized why the Lancelot was short-circuiting, and now I can't find it no matter how much I dig through these papers."

"Your pudding cup? It's in the wastebin."

"The wastebin?" Bewildered, the scientist blinked at his partner. "Why in heaven is my pudding up in the wastebin?"

"Because you finished eating it. I asked you if you were done with it, and you said that you had. There's more pudding in the fridge though. I just restocked it."

"Really? Hmmm… Then I suppose I'll have one more pudding before turning in for the evening…"

Cecile looked after him as he made his way to the kitchen. Her warning to be careful bounced off of his back as he ignored her advice that eating before bed wasn't good for digestion. When he rounded the corner, she sighed. He'd probably wake her up in the middle of the night, knocking on her door while clutching his stomach. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders more tightly, she decided to go off in search of the box of mint tea they kept in some obscure shelf. Where could they have put it? And maybe she should also look for the container of ginger tea instead? Or perhaps it would be better if she combined the both of them and give him a cup of mint-ginger tea when his indigestion kicked in. It wouldn't hurt to try, and it didn't sound like it would taste very ba—

The blue-haired woman started as a loud blaring echoed disturbed the quiet hallways of the underground research headquarters. Her eyes snapped towards the multi-screen monitor. What was causing the disturbance?

"What is that dreadful sound, Cecile?" Lloyd questioned through a mouth full of pudding. He poked his head into the room, full of curiosity; they rarely received visitors, whether they were welcome or not, whether they were expected or unexpected, and to greet people at their doorstep so late in the evening… Who could it be?

"Our northwestern boundaries have been crossed. Someone is coming in at high speeds."

"Friend or foe?" He came up besides her, squinting through his glasses as he swallowed the last spoonful of creamy pudding.

"I believe… I believe it's the Weiss Prinz."

"The Weiss Prinz!" The eccentric scientist grinned with giddiness. "My, my, it's been some time since our last visit from his Highness. Come back to see what new little toys we've invented for him, has he? Let him in, Cecile, let him in at once. We have a prince in our presence!"

. . .

When the sleek sports car pulled up by them, Lloyd took note of two things, the first being the ruined state of the vehicle with its shattered windows and its bullet-riddled shell and the second being the owner of said vehicle who was looking extremely washed-out as he stepped out of the car.

Placing his hands on his hips, he chuckled. "Welcome, welcome. I see you've been up to no good as always, Mr. Lamperouge. I… Who is _this_?" He heard Cecile gasp lightly as the Mafioso opened the door to reveal that they were with prestigious company. Lloyd smiled. So his suspicions had been correct.

"What an honor, to have the Weiss Königin here. Welcome to Camelot, your Majesty. Would you care for a cup of pudding? I'm afraid it's all we have here at the moment that's edible and won't kill you."

"Lloyd…" Cecile whispered, reproachfully nudging her colleague. His smile merely grew, as he continued on with his oblivious monologue.

"Or would you perhaps like a change of clothes instead? It seems your dress, as beautiful as it is, is soaked with…. Bodily fluids. Cecile, do you mind lending some clothes to our esteemed guest?"

"Oh, not at all. Please follow me, Madame."

The careworn emerald-haired woman was about to follow, when her guardian grabbed her arm. Everyone stared at him but he offered no explanation, his grip only tightening.

"She'll be safe here, Mr. Lamperouge. There's no need for you to be so wary."

He slowly released her but not before earning a look from his charge. When he let her go and the two women disappeared around the corner, Lloyd dropped his charade. Adopting an unwontedly somber expression, he asked, "It's begun, hasn't it?"

"We're going into hiding. I need money, ammunition, disguises. All of which I know you have."

"And that we're willing to supply you with," steadily replied the bespectacled man. "Don't forget, Mr. Lamperouge, that Cecile and I too are a part of the Weiss Ritter."

"… My apologies. It's been a long night. I didn't expect for the Hóng Hè to strike so soon and within our territory. The Weiss Königin is most likely shell-shocked from what happened."

"What happened?"

Lelouch gave him a tight smile in answer, allowing Lloyd to fill in the gaps as he pleased. With an understanding nod, he dropped the subject and gestured for his visitor to follow him from the underground garage to the main facilities. As they made their way through the well-lit tunnel, the more whimsical of the pair ceased his humming to say aloud, "I suppose you don't fancy some pudding at the moment either, eh?"

"Pudding is the last thing I need right now."

"What _do_ you need, Mr. Lamperouge?"

"For the Weiss Königin to be safe and out of reach from the Hóng Hè," he replied humorlessly.

"And I presume that this is also what you desire?"

The raven-haired man made no answer. That kind of information was strictly a need-to-know basis, and Lloyd Asplund didn't need to know. No needed to know, save for him, where his heart lay. No one.

Not even her.

. . .

C.C., her hair damp, stepped out of the bathroom. A cloud of warm steam drifted out after her, brushing by her as she stood in the foreign and unfamiliar bedroom with her arms wrapped around herself. The peach cashmere sweater Ms. Croomy had lent her, with its cowl neck and long sleeves, was comfortable though a bit oversized. But it was warm, and it felt comforting and comfortable, which was all that she really wanted at the moment. Thus, she had no complaints as she left the bathroom, dressed in black stockings, white shorts, and a borrowed pink sweater.

"Oh, Madame Corabelle!" Ms. Croomy entered the room, surprised to see the young mistress out of the shower so early.

"Ms. Croomy. Thank you for lending me your clothes. I'll return them as soon as I can procure another change of clothes."

"Not at all. Are you feeling alright though? Or better at least? I made a cup of tea, if you'd like to drink it."

"Yes, I…"

The song playing quietly on the speakers changed, and with the change, C.C. froze. What… How…?

Ms. Croomy seemed to have noticed her confusion and shock, for she heard her self-consciously explain, "Oh, I hope… I hope you don't mind the music. I thought it would help, even if it's for a little."

"How did you… How did you know to play this…. This particular piece?"

"In all honesty, Mr. Lamperouge is the one who should be credited with the suggestion. He told me that you liked this particular piece… Was he wrong? Shall I put on a different composition?"

She merely stood rooted to her spot, completely mute, as she listened to the lilting notes. As she listened, she was taken back to a time years ago, when she had been younger and more afraid than she was now. She remembered how he had always played this piece for her, how his slender fingers drifted up and down the row of black and white keys, how his soft violet eyes would occasionally glance up at her, eyes so full of love it had been overwhelming, how he would sit her down besides him and teach her to play. How he would always play this piece for her whenever she was frightened, just as she was frightened now.

Her eyes stung with tears at the flood of memories and she dug her nails into her palm. She refused to cry. Not here, not now, not in front of Cecile Croomy, no matter how kind of a woman she was. Maybe later, when she was alone and could have a moment of privacy… But not now… Never now…

"Ms. Croomy, do you happen to know where Mr. Lamperouge is right now?"

"I believe he's in Sector 6 with Lloyd. Would you like to go to him?"

The emerald-haired woman nodded wordlessly and they made their way through the corridors of the secret base. With each step, C.C. tried her best to keep a blank expression, a passive face, but each delicate piano note seemed to attack her, pummeling her in a vicious and savage blitz. She bit her lower lip; Ms. Croomy would notice how her ward was lagging behind soon if she didn't focus, and the raven-haired man would most definitely become aware of her reaction to the music. She didn't know whether to curse him or to thank him, for she wasn't sure what he had intended with the music. In fact, whether this selection was intentional or not on his part, she didn't know, but she claimed to not particularly care; she had better things to do after all, far more important tasks to tend to, such as making sure she had her mask tied on securely by the time she faced him again.

Yes, far batter, far more important things than worrying over the schemes and ambitions of a man whom she had long since bid farewell to.

. . .

They were surprised when they entered the room. Not by the duffle bags that, in all likelihood, carried several types of arms and a large quantity of ammunition, or cold, hard, untraceable cash. Those were to be expected. What surprised them was Lloyd Asplund's face.

By nature, the scientist had an easy-going, light-hearted disposition, one prone to teasing people regardless of whether it was appropriate or not as Cecile could testify. But when they walked in, there was no sign of the silly little grin that was customarily found on his face; instead, he wore a rather troubled frown with his brows creased together over his spectacles. Though he wasn't the only one; Lelouch Lamperouge was none the better. He himself was scowling, his lips having been tightened into a thin line of anger and impatience as he slipped his dress shirt back onto his shoulders and buttoned it back up.

Apprehension knotted itself in the pit of C.C.'s stomach. What had happened?

She clearly wasn't the only one with the question on her mind as Ms. Croomy knocked on the doorway before asking, "What's wrong, Lloyd?"

There were three slow seconds of terse silence before a wise smile broke through the strained atmosphere. He waved a hand at her as if to express how featherbrained and unnecessary her concern was while cheerfully saying, "Nothing is wrong, darling, so don't frown like that. You're putting off my appetite for pudding."

"Please don't call me 'darling,' Lloyd. It's very unprofessional."

"I would hardly call our relationship professional, dear," he teased. "But anyhow… Cecile, would you please make sure that Madame Corabelle's face, as beautiful as she is, along with any telltale characteristics that could give away her identity, are concealed by means of a disguise?"

He was trying to get rid of them. Something was going on, something involving Lelouch, and the two conspirators were trying to get rid of them so they could continue whispering and plotting behind closed doors. The raven-haired man wouldn't even look at her, making sure to take as much time as possible in buttoning his shirt. It was a flimsy excuse, even for him, and it made her wonder: was the secret that terrible?

Ms. Croomy gestured to another hallway that probably led to the some depot holding camouflage paraphernalia somewhere in the base, and the emerald-haired woman obediently followed but not before she glanced over her shoulder one last time at him.

Their eyes met briefly through the reflection of a small mirror. She stopped in her tracks, completely startled by what she saw. For in those two seconds when he finally looked at her… In those two seconds when their eyes met, she saw something unexpected, something surprising.

In those two seconds, she saw _fear_.

Fear of whom? Or rather, of what? What did Lelouch Lamperouge, the capobastone of the Weiss Ritter, have to fear? Years ago, she might have been able to answer that question. But not anymore, not with everything that had happened since then. So, she wondered. As she walked away, the heels of her black high heel boots clicking down the hall after the blue-haired researcher, C.C. wondered. She wondered, ruminated, pondered, speculated, and puzzled over what could possibly be the cause of such unbarred, naked fear in the eyes of what should have been a powerful and intrepid man.

. . .

The moment the door hissed shut behind the women, Lloyd asked, "Would you like the good news or the bad news first?"

"There is no such thing as good or bad news; it's simply perspective," intoned the raven-haired man.

"Good news it is then." His patient (if that's what one could call him; he wasn't a legitimate doctor after all) narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The bespectacled man didn't blame him; he was completely aware of how unlike himself he was acting, absolutely nothing like his usually carefree demeanor. Perhaps he should finally pick up that book Cecile had left on his desk on social cues. Or not. There was a high chance that the book was useless; most do-it-yourself books were. He would know from past experience.

"The good news is that you're not going to die thanks to the dirty little trick the Hóng Hè pulled out of their sleeve. Well, not immediately, that is."

"And the other piece of news?"

Lloyd didn't hesitate in dropping the bomb.

"There's no cure."

"I see."

He was surprisingly calm for someone who had just been handed a death sentence. Lloyd admitted that he was somewhat impressed; here was a man unfazed even by death, a man who was calm and composed at all times, a man who was shaken by nothing. A man who had nothing to lose. Who saved nothing for the swim back. A type of man difficult to find, especially in recent times. Admirable.

"Do you know the symptoms? The behavior of the poison?"

As Mr. Lamperouge put on his grey blazer, he shifted his glasses up with a solitary finger. "Symptoms: dizziness, vomiting, high fevers are probable, loss of appetite, difficulty swallowing, and a possibility of losing consciousness at times. This particular type of poison is known to have undulating symptoms. It spreads, slowly, through your body, destroying your internal organs as it goes."

"… Estimation of remaining time."

Was that a slight tremor in his voice? "There is a 99.99% fatality rate. I would say that you have an approximate four to six months. You were fortunate, Mr. Lamperouge, in that the Hóng Hè agent couldn't give you the full dosage intended for you, or else you would have died right then and there."

"And what of an antidote? Can one not be developed?"

"Many have tried. All have failed."

"And you, Lloyd Asplund? Will you be one of those who've failed?"

"I will try my best, but you must understand that I can't promise you a cure. Cecile and I will do everything in our power and knowledge to synthesize an antidote. In the meanwhile, we can give you some medication that ought to help slow down the rate of the poison's spread. It should give you an extra month, maybe less, perhaps a little more if we're lucky."

As he set about measuring out brightly colored pills and assorting them in various bottles, he heard the Mafioso question, "Will my motor skills be affected in any way?"

"Barring the symptoms, no. And neither should the medication. Now, _I_ have a question for _you_ which I hope you will answer."

"What is it?"

"Will you be informing the Weiss Königin about this… Turn of events?"

"… No."

"No? Are you sure that's a wise decision?" Lloyd peered at him over the rim of his glasses before returning his attention to the capsules spread out before him on the cool metal counter.

"If I were you, Mr. Lamperouge," he said in a light voice, "I would be extremely careful in the presence of her Majesty. We wouldn't want any more of the Weiss Ritter's blood spilled than is necessary. Don't you agree?"

There was no reply. Not that he had expected one; the raven-haired man had had a long day and an even longer night, having been in the company of his ex-fiancé for the entire day before promptly having his life threatened, coupled with a death sentence. He probably wanted some time to himself, to meditate, think, whatever it was that those brutish Mafiosos did when faced with an inescapable grave. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the brooding violet eyes, the dull gaze of a man who was worn and weary; Lloyd corrected his earlier observations. Here was man who was unfazed even by death but no less felt the gravity of the sentence.

"Ah, here we are. Now, you're going to have to take quite a few capsules, but I'm sure a man of your determination and strength won't mind this?" Not waiting for a reply, Lloyd continued on. "Three of the blue pills _after_ each meal, one white after you wake up in the morning, and one red right before you tuck yourself in for a good night's sleep. Which you could use, seeing how haggard you look right now."

"An extra month did you say?" he questioned warily.

"Granting you a grand total of four to eight months which will be more than enough time for the Hóng Hè to surrender. After all, the enemies of the Weiss Ritter never stand for long. Crippled, perhaps. But never standing."

"No… No, it's different this time. Coalitions are being formed; we're being enclosed. The noose is tightening around our necks with each alliance, and according to the reports, dozens and dozens of small gangs are grouping together. This may be the war where we will be the ones raising the white flag."

"Humans and their wars," the researcher tsked. "So volatile and unpredictable, with their emotions and whims. All the more reason why machines are more reliable, do you not agree, Mr. Lamperouge? After all, they can't lie to you or betray you as man can."

There was no answer. But as they walked through the corridor that would lead them back to Camelot's garage, Lelouch couldn't help but think: _But you can't love a machine. You can't caress a machine in bed as you drink in the way the moonlight glints off of the machine's hair, can't kiss a machine, can't love it as you can love a human. Machines can't evoke such passion, such longing, from you… But man can, even with their mercurial behavior and betrayals… And even you can't deny that much, Lloyd_.

No one could.

. . .

C.C. ran a hand through her hair; no trace of its trademark green could be found, for every single emerald strand had been inked into a dark, dark midnight black. Cerulean irises blinked back at her from the mirror, her gold having been secreted away for her safety. For her safety.

Was this really necessary? To have to wear a wig, to wear contact lenses, to hide her face beneath a mask?

Don't be ridiculous; of course it was. How many people had hair like hers? Who else had eyes the color of hers? She stuck out like a wolf in sheep's clothing, though, she thought grimly, she supposed she was the sheep in this case, and everyone else was a wolf.

She spotted him in the rearview mirror. When they had met again, him with his duffle bags and her with her new appearance, she had looked at him, scrutinized him, searching for some hint, some remnant of the fear she had seen in his eyes earlier. There was none to be found, not even the tiniest shadow of agitation. It was as if it had never even existed, had never happened, as if it had been her imagination. But she refused to believe that it had been some illusion induced by her fatigue, some trick of the light. She had seen it in him, and though it had just been for a fleeting moment, she had seen it as clearly as the full moon shining outside.

What had happened in that room with Lloyd?

She would ask him on the way to wherever it was that they were running away to, she decided. She wanted answers, and she was determined to get them; she had a right to know. His life wasn't the only one at stake here. C.C. watched him with a careful eye, trying to gauge his mood when she heard, "My, my, what's this? Madame, it appears your cellular device has slipped out of your pocket…"

Her cell-phone? No, it wasn't. It was safely tucked away in her pocket; she could feel the stiff body pressing against her leg, it—

With a smile, Lloyd handed her a small, oblong case through the open car window. Confused, she frowned; what was this? As if he could read her mind, he leaned in closer so that no one save for her would be able to hear, and murmured, "Should an unexpected emergency occur… Inject the needle into his outer thigh and help will immediately be sent to you."

"Emergency?"

"Ah, and a word of precaution; it may not be the best thing to mention this to our Weiss Prinz as he's somewhat… Petulant about this subject."

"Mr. Asplund, what—"

"I wish you the best of luck, Madame," he said in a louder voice. With a smile, he leaned back comfortably in his usual stance, with his hands in the pockets of his ankle-length lab coat. Ms. Croomy came to join him by his side as Lelouch climbed into the car they had switched out for. "Do visit again, Mr. Lamperouge. It was marvelous having guests over, even if it was only for an hour or two. We might also have the answer to the riddles that plague you, should you make the effort to come to us."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied. "Ms. Croomy. Lloyd."

"Mr. Lamperouge. Madame."

The engine started with a quiet roar. As they pulled out of the lot, C.C. saw the bespectacled researcher making a gesture as if injecting a needle within someone, reminding her of the case and his vague warning. Should an unexpected emergency occur? She cast her companion a sidelong glance. Just what secret was he keeping from her?

"Lelou—"

"Has the Madame decided on a new identity yet?"

"A new identity?"

"The changes in physical appearance can't be the only defense mechanism you rely on. You'll need an entirely new persona so as to reduce the possibility of being recognized."

"I'm to reinvent myself within the next…"

"Three hours, yes."

C.C. would have laughed if it hadn't been for how dead serious Lelouch had been when he had confirmed her suspicions. Settling into her seat, she resigned herself to the task set before her.

"What do you suggest, Mr. Lamperouge, for my new name?"

There was a break in the stilted conversation. He had been thrown off-guard, had never counted on her looking to him for help. Familiar silence passed through them before he replied in a strained voice, "… What of taking your mother's maiden name? You always admired her maiden name, did you not?"

She choked back a gasp as she stared at him, completely shocked. He had… Had he just…

"As for the first name… There are a myriad that you could select from. I suggest borrowing the name of someone familiar to you, or significant, as it'll be easier for you to remem—"

"Marianne."

He tensed, the knuckles of his hand turning white around the steering wheel, as she repeated in a steady voice, "I choose Marianne."

"… And the surname?"

"Kingsley."

"Marianne Kingsley," he breathed. "Are you sure about this?"

"Quite." It was a petty move, using his mother's name. But it angered her that he would open up the past like that, especially when they had agreed not to, and so, though it was spiteful, she decided on Marianne.

"And what of your history, your background? Along with…"

"Along with our relationship," she finished. She turned towards the window. "This is what my story will be; I was born and raised in Pendragon and was admitted to Pendragon University where I earned a degree in the culinary arts. There, I met you, the man who would later become my husband. As for why we're traveling, we're on a spontaneous trip in an attempt to re-spark the romance in our broken marriage. You don't have any issues with this biography, do you, Mr. Lamperouge? After all, it's only fictitious."

"… We'll have to add in more detail later, but I believe it should suffice for now."

"Good."

There was a note of finality in her voice, effectively killing any and all potential conversation between them. Not that she particularly felt like talking at the moment; she had gone through so much and she felt so disoriented… And her new identity wasn't making the organization of her thoughts any easier.

As she watched the never-ending darkness whip by, C.C. decided that she would ask him why he and Lloyd had been so grave at Camelot tomorrow. They both needed sleep, some rest to clear their minds. Him probably more so than her as he had to care for her on top of himself. So she let him go for the time being. There would always be tomorrow after all, and they both knew that they would have more than enough time to discuss what had happened back there with the music and the frowns.

There would always be tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for the overwhelming support. It just flooded in, something I never expected, and I'm really grateful for it all. It means a lot to me :) I hope this chapter was alright; I don't really think anything noteworthy happened. Like this was more of a transition chapter. But I promise the next one is going to have some real drama going on. Until next time~**


	6. Denouement

**A/N: Alrighty then. Well. I said I'd post this in late September to coincide with the Zero Requiem, but then I was like: ... Naaaaaah. So, I pray to whatever higher being there is out there that this is in-character. And it's a long chapter, so just... All I'm going to say about this chapter is that this chapter... If you don't leave a review, I'm going to be sorely disappointed. And if you do, please, please be nice! It's not good for a reason! Reason being I'm new at this! Thank you and happy reading, everyone!**

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

* * *

Chapter Six: Denouement

* * *

"Oh, shut up, Shirley!" The assassin straightened up with a look of blatant vexation on her face. Spinning on her heel, she advanced toward the ginger captive. "Do you know how frustrating it is to be with you? You're so vapid, so simplistic and ignorant. In fact, you can't even see the truth that's sitting right in front of you, you wouldn't know the truth if it slapped you in the face."

"W-what are you—"

"Lelouch Lamperouge? Your Prince Charming? My God, Shirley, how dense can you be? Um, hello, anybody in that head of yours? Of course not. How can someone be so blind and so happy at the same time? Don't you get it? Lelouch and this woman over here, they used to—"

The door slammed open and Shirley jumped. Who—

Lelouch strode into the room, shooting Georgie before she had even turned around all the way. He quickly dispatched the rest of the bullets in his cartridge, and she watched with horrified eyes as scarlet blood splattered the mirrors and walls, painted the bathroom floor. What… What—

He turned to her, and she was about to fall into his arms, exhausted from the deadly situation she had been abruptly tossed into, when he raised the gun to her head. She stopped short, her eyes wide with confusion; what… What was happening? Why was— Why was he pointing the gun at her, why was Lelouch aiming straight for her?

He smiled cruelly as the click of the gun cocking echoed throughout the room. Nauseous with fear, she shut her eyes tightly. What… Why… Was this how her life was going to end? In the bathroom of a nightclub, standing in a pool of her best friend's blood?

"I had a nice time, Shirley, but unfortunately…. Unfortunately, I have no need nor want for you anymore. But you don't mind leaving, do you? No, of course you don't."

"Lelouch, wai—"

The gunshot reverberated off of the cold marble walls, muffled only by the sound of the raven-haired man's cold laughter.

Shirley bolted upright, screaming and shaking from her nightmare. Gasping for breath, she clutched at her throat. Oh God, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't… She couldn't breathe, her lungs were going to burst, oh God, oh God, oh _God!_ Flicking the bedside lamp on with trembling hands, she wildly pulled the drawer of the table open before searching desperately for her inhaler. Oh God, where was her inhaler, where was it, she had put it in the drawer. It— The second her fingers wrapped around the familiar and cool plastic, she drove it into her mouth and inhaled.

When she found herself able to breathe again, she let the puffer fall into her lap before bursting into uncontrollable tears.

Where was he? What had happened to Lelouch? Was he alright? Was he even alive? What if… What if he was lying in some ditch somewhere, all alone and on the brink of death with no one to help him? To save him? What if he was already dead? Where could he be? She had found her inhaler, it had been right there in her drawer, so how come she couldn't find _him?_ _Where was he?_

Burying her face into her hands, Shirley sobbed. She was all alone, all by herself in the dark apartment she had once shared with her best friend, her best friend who had been murdered by her boyfriend, the one she sought, the one who had vanished without a trace. She felt so lost and so lonely, had never felt this shaken, had never been this wracked with worry. Where could he be, the man she loved? And what was he doing… _If_ he were still alive?

. . .

He set her down on the bed, carefully laying her head down on the pillow. She had fallen asleep during the car ride to Avalon, her eyes having fluttered shut as she slowly succumbed to her exhaustion. And he had carried her from the car to the tiny apartment, not wanting to wake her. She had gone through so much in so little time… It worried him to no end. Not the Hóng Hè, not the war that his brotherhood was engaged in. Not even the fact that there was poison coursing through his veins hell-bent on claiming his last breath worried him as much as she did. She seemed so frail and delicate despite the strong front she put on, and it worried him that this was too much stress, too much burden for her to bear.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lelouch studied the way the early morning sun glinted off of her emerald hair and softly illuminated her peaceful expression. Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, he gazed down at her as he carefully brushed her cheek with his hand. He memorized the contours of her face, tracing the edge of her jaw with the pad of his thumb before reaching for her slender hands.

Gently, he slid her golden and silver bands off one by one until there was nothing adorning her spidery fingers… Save for her extravagant wedding ring. He stared at the diamond quietly glittering in the early morning grey; it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, there was no denying that. And there was a good chance that it was worth a small nation, but… But – dare he say it? – even with the lavishness, did she wear it proudly? Was it a trophy, he wondered, or was it her punishment, was it something that chained her down, that held her captive?

Lelouch reached for the ring, to spirit it away from her hand, when he remembered. How could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten how this… This woman was off-limits, how she was forbidden? Yes, she might have been his at one point or other, but that didn't mean he could just pretend as if she hadn't wed another man. Even if his feelings for her had never changed, even if her wedding ring was a manacle, it didn't mean he could just do as he pleased.

So that was why, even though he loved her, even though he wanted to kiss her and tell her that she was safe, that he would readily give her his life, he set her hand down by her side. That was why he rose from the bed, slipping her shoes off before setting them on the ground and leaving, the love of his life none the wiser.

Because she was the Forbidden Fruit, the one and only in the Garden of Eden prohibited from him.

Because she was a bright flame that would burn him if he were to come close.

Because she was the Mona Lisa, someone he could always see but never touch, the man left the ring alone and stole away.

Because he loved her.

. . .

Surprised, C.C. blinked at the rich wallpaper looming over her. This was the wallpaper for one of the Schachmatt's numerous hallways. What was she doing at the Schachmatt? Bewildered, she looked all around her. True enough, the twin set of porcelain urns she had bid for at an art auction two years ago was sitting on their small mahogany table, a painting of a gloriously blossoming peach tree hanging just above it. And to her left was the ornately carved door she knew led to the Ivory Room, or the room where the custom-designed Steinway grand piano was kept.

From where she stood in the corridor, the emerald-haired woman could just barely make out the gentle notes of Beethoven. Leopold must be inside, she thought. With the realization, relief immediately washed over her; he was safe, he was_ alive_, he hadn't been taken from her. With a smile, she opened the door, wondering if she should call out to him and interrupt the beautiful piece he was playing, or if she should keep quiet and allow him to notice her arrival on his own. Perhaps it would be better if she kept quiet and…

C.C. froze, her eyes wide with shock. The person sitting at the piano… That wasn't Leopold, that was… That was the young woman who had tried to kill her, Georgie Lee. That was a murderous sinner playing the piano, luring her in, not the innocent who was close to her heart, it… Where was Leopold? What had she done to him? But before she could extract the truth from her, the spirit dissipated with a cackle and her fearful gaze alighted upon blood. Bright crimson blood dyed on the snow-white carpeting of the room, blood that was creating an ominous trail up the leather seat of the piano bench, coloring the white keys of the elegant instrument, and onto the… _Onto the lid where Leopold lay, his corpse drowning in a pool of his own blood, his violet eyes staring lifelessly at the glittering chande_—

She woke with a start, surprised to hear screaming. Screaming? Who was screaming, who…

_Her_.

It was _her_, _she_ was the one screaming. Those shrill shrieks of pure terror and despair were her own, she was the one screaming, she… It was _her_.

Frantic with panic and shivering from the sheen of cold sweat covering her, she gasped for breath, for control, when the door slammed open. C.C. flinched, waiting to be hit with a fatal blow, only to discover her intruder's identity to be her keeper, his hair damp from a shower and the gun in his hand pointed straight at her. It was only when he saw how the only occupants of the room were himself and her, with no sign of an assassin, did he lower the gun though his guard was not. Silence wormed its way in between them, until Lelouch, uneasy and unsure of how to navigate through a situation as the one currently at hand, hesitantly asked, "… Would you like a cup of tea?"

It took her a moment for his question to register, but even when it did, she didn't say anything. She was shaking too hard, and feared that answering would only betray her true emotions. When his question was met with a wall of silence, her guard furrowed his brows.

"Madame?"

"… Mister… Mr. Lamperouge."

"Yes, Madame?"

"I… I need to make a phone call. Do you have a cell-phone on you?"

"A… Cell-phone." She ignored the note of incredulity creeping into his voice and impatiently said, "To make a phone call, yes, I—"

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to place a phone call."

She looked up at him in disbelief upon hearing his words. Can't allow? What… What did he mean by 'can't allow'? How dare he… _Can't allow?_

"This isn't a matter of discretion, Mr. Lamperouge, this is an order from your superior. Hand over your cell-phone at once."

But the stubborn bastard stood his ground and shook his head. "The Weiss König specifically stated that we avoid making any unnecessary phone calls. I apologize, but I cannot condone a phone call. We can't afford the chance that the Hóng Hè locate us through triangulation of the sig—"

"You made several phone calls during the journey here, did you not?" she pointed out. "You can use the same method you used before."

"Those were essential, of utmost nece—"

"_This is as important, if not more than—_"

"My apologies, Madame. But I am going to have to deny your request."

He turned to leave when he heard a thin, "Please… Please, Lelouch, I ask for this one call. I won't ask for anything else, so please… Just this one phone call."

He paused, as if he were teetering on a precipice of whether or not he should give in to her pleas, and hope sparked. Would he… Was he going to…?

But then he walked away without so much as a backwards glance and her entire world turned dark. It collapsed with deafening silence as the door closed behind him and on any chance of being at peace. C.C. shook as desperate tears fell onto the back of her tightly clenched hand.

That… That was it? That was it. That was it, there was no other way she could reach Leopold, no possible way to find out whether he was dead or alive, if he could still smile, and laugh, and breathe, if his body was lying somewhere rotting and riddled with bullet holes. That was it. She tried to swallow but there was a lump in her throat and the thought of Leopold by himself, poor, sweet, bashful Leopold, all by himself, all alone with no one to hold him, to kiss him, to smooth his hair and distract him from his fears, tore at her and… And… Oh Leopold…

She fought for control, for apathy and indifference, but she couldn't stop crying, and the terror kept eating at her until she was nothing but an embodiment of frustration and agony, fretting and fearing for the life of the one she cherished…

. . .

Lelouch leaned against the door before heavily sliding down to the cold floor. Miserably burying his face into his hands, he closed his eyes. He had to wash it away. He had to wash it away, wash it all away, had to wash away the desire to go back inside and comfort her, had to wash away the desire to tell her that everything would be alright, that there was no need to be scared. He had to erase the longing to hold her to his chest and run his hand through her hair all the while consoling her with quiet murmurs and quelling her agitation.

It upset him to see her so affected and so scared, but what especially hurt was how difficult it had been to turn his back on her. He tried to forget it all, the want and the emotion, but the image of her wide tearful eyes drilling into him, desperate with pain and panic, was burned into the backs of his eyelids as her cris de coeur rang in his ears. He struggled. He couldn't rush back inside, he couldn't hand her his phone, he couldn't hug her and couldn't tell her that she would be safe for he would always be there for her, to protect her, to watch over her. _Wouldn't_ do that.

He could brush it off. He could brush it off, just as he had brushed off everything else that had hurt him during the past four years. And even if he couldn't, he could always ignore it. After all, if he had learned anything from a life of crime, it was that ignorance was bliss, that being aloof would grant him reprieve.

That indifference was the key to his survival.

Wasn't that his axiom? His motto, his maxim, his way of living? To ignore everything from that previous life, to ignore anything and everything that reminded him of C.C., to just turn a blind eye to the fragments of his shattered heart and to move on. To focus only on himself and move on, to pretend as if nothing had happened, as if he had never been the happiest man in the world, as if he had never been broken very nearly beyond repair. He could do that, couldn't he? He had done it so well up until this moment. He had never shied from killing in cold blood, had never cried out when he had beaten within an inch of his life, had never let his mind stray on her during those four years. Never once had he let his emotions dictate his actions, his decisions. From the moment he had joined the Weiss Ritter, he had allowed grief to eat up his heart and spit it back out as an unfeeling killing machine… Hadn't he?

He could still do it. Of course he could. He _had_ to. It was for his sake, for his survival, _his own good_. He had to do it, he couldn't… He couldn't just pretend as if nothing would happen if he were to go back inside, that it wouldn't change everything, that it wouldn't destroy…

But… But what if he didn't want to survive? What if he didn't want to, what if he didn't care enough to live on? What if all he cared about was her smile? What if all he cared about were her tears? What if… What if he didn't care what happened to himself so long as she didn't cry, wasn't hurt?

… What if he wanted to love her?

But he knew better. He knew that no matter what he thought, no matter what he cared about, what he wanted, it would only upset her more, would only serve to make her cry harder, would only hurt her. So Lelouch never went inside. Instead, he silently sat outside the room, leaning on the door, as every heart-wrenching sob he heard ripped and shred his heart and resolve apart.

And as he listened, he asked himself: he could take this, couldn't he? It was nothing compared to the trials and tribulations he had been put through, wasn't it?

He could turn his back on her one last time…

… Couldn't he?

. . .

Early morning evaporated from the autumn sun's bright rays which eventually gave way to a gloomy late afternoon, but the bereaved young woman budged not even an inch. Swathed in a warm blanket, she listlessly watched raindrops hesitantly creep down the windowpane with eyes as dead as those she had seen in her dream. All morning long and deep into the afternoon, she simply lay in bed, crestfallen and consumed with worry for the life of the mysterious and enigmatic Leopold. Even when there was a soft knock on the door and her visitor came to stand by her bed, there was no reaction from her she was so woebegone.

"… Madame."

Silence.

"… Madame Corabelle."

Silence.

"Ex—"

"I wish for solitude, Mr. Lamperouge. Unless, of course, I'm not permitted to privacy due to securi—"

"Madame Corabelle."

What was it? Why had he come inside? Was it to laugh over her grief-stricken state? Was it to mock her and her helplessness? What was it? Why had he come back, he who had denied her the most simplest of wishes? What could he possibly want from her, what else could he possibly want from h…

C.C. stared at the cell-phone in his outstretched hand before looking up at him, shocked, as he quietly said, "… Forgive me…"

She made no effort to reply and merely seized the device. As she hurriedly dialed the number, she could vaguely hear him tell her how there was a small window of time that she would need to make her call and that she couldn't go beyond the allotted period or else risk revealing their location. That he would like to know who it was that she wanted to contact. That he had already spoken to her husband and that he was alive and well, that he had to know who it was that she was calling since they could have switched their allegiance without her knowledge, that—

"Shut up," she snapped. Impatience radiating from her trembling frame, she pressed the phone to her ear as if doing so would prompt the other end to pick up. Blatantly making a show of ignoring the raven-haired man by turning her head away from him, she listened to each monotonous ring back tone restlessly. Why wasn't he answering the phone? Why, what had happened so that he wasn't answering her call, what could have possibly—

"Madame, with all due respect—"

"I couldn't care less what Schneizel is doing at the moment, nor could I care less for his life, so _please_, just _shut—_"

"What if it's an ally of the Hóng Hè that you're calling?" he interjected irritably.

"He's not," she growled. "I know he's not, I—"

"How can you be so sure of his loyalty?" he demanded. "When you have no idea what the Hóng Hè are capable of, how can you be so sure?"

That was it. That was the end, that was the very last of her patience; she had tried to ignore him, had told him to be quiet, but the persistent son of a bitch wouldn't leave her alone, wouldn't stop pestering her and annoying her and it— He wanted to know? Fine. Fine, then she'd tell him.

"Madame—"

"Because he's my _son_. How can I be so sure of his loyalty, you ask? Because he is my _son_, my _child_, _my own flesh and blood_. That's how I'm sure of his loyalty, because blood is thicker than water. Are you satisfied now, Mr. Lamperouge, now that you finally know everything there is to know?" she snarled. "Or is there something else you'd like for me to tell you?

There was no reply. He was silent, his tongue having most likely been rendered still by the blow she had just delivered. But of course he was dumbfounded; Schneizel had never informed anyone of the birth of Leopold. He had kept the news even from his right-hand man upon her request. No one knew of the child's existence save for very, very, _very_ few people, which was what she desired, since if no one knew about him, then there wouldn't be any chance that him being dragged into a deadly world of Mafia politics and assassination attempts.

Not that the silence bothered her. Quite the contrary. Silence was perfect as she listened to the droning from the phone. Silence would allow her to concentrate, to focus, on not crying out of desperation, to stamp down the rising sense of alarm and nausea as Leopold continued to ignore her call.

Please pick up, she begged. Please, please, _please_, somebody, _anybody_, just answer the pho—

"Hello?"

"Sayoko!"

"Madame!"

"Sayoko, Leopold. Leopold, is he— How—" She couldn't seem to form coherent thoughts, much less sentences, but the maid understood well enough and replied in a kind voice: "The young master has been relocated. He is very well-protected from the enemy. Jeremiah and I guard him all hours of the day, along with Master Schneizel's personal detail. Young Master Leopold's health is also very good, although he does miss his mother very much. Would you like to speak to him?"

"Yes. Yes, please, I… Please, Leopold."

C.C. waited, as tense as a tightly coiled spring, until she heard a beautifully familiar voice say, "M… Maman?"

Nearly bursting into tears at the sound of his endearing voice, she cried, "Leopold! Oh Leopold my love… Leopold, how are you, sweetheart?"

"M… Maman, whe… Where are you? Where did you go? I waited for you but you didn't come h… Home."

"I'm sorry Leopold. Maman had to go on a little surprise trip, but I'll be coming home very soon. In the meanwhile, can I trust you to listen to Jeremiah and Sayoko?"

"Are you really going to come h… H..."

"Go on, sweetheart," she gently coaxed. Oh, he must be so frightened if his stuttering had gotten to be this severe… Oh Leopold…

He struggled. "Home soon?"

"I promise. I promise you, Maman will come back very soon."

"O-Okay, I b… Believe you. But come home really soon. Charlie w-wants to show you the n… New piece he's been practicing, o-okay?"

"Of course. Maman can't wait to hear what new surprises Charlie has in store. Give him a kiss for me."

"I w… W-Will, but—"

"Oh dear, Leopold, it looks like Maman has to go." She could hear the phone urgently beeping as it warned her that time was beginning to run short. "But I promise you that Maman will come back home soon, okay? I promise."

"Okay, I—"

"I love you, Leopold. I love you!"

"I l… Love y-you t—"

When the phone's screen darkened permanently, C.C. let it fall into her lap, feeling all the world as if a hole had been ripped into her heart. He was still alive, thank God, but he must be terrified… The thought of her three-year-old son all by himself, surrounded by no one but men with guns, bloodthirsty savages who would prefer to jeer at him than to show him kindness. _If_ they even knew who it was that they were guarding…

Oh Leopold…

She handed the cell-phone over, careful to avoid any eye-contact with him, he who had yet to overcome his shock, and rose from the bed. She needed space, some quiet. She didn't want to be interrogated, nor did she want to be incessantly peppered with questions, questions she probably didn't have the answers to. She just wanted some time alone, to pray for her son, to pray that he would survive the way with his bright smile unscathed and unchanged by the maelstrom of violence he had been pitched into.

She was about to brush past him to leave the room, when he suddenly caught her wrist.

"… Why was I never told about Leopold?"

C.C. tried to shake him off but his grip only tightened as he asked her in a low voice, "Why was I never told that you and Schneizel have a son? Why did he never tell me about Leopold?"

"Release me, Mr. Lamperouge."

Turning back to look at her, he made sure that she was meeting his angry gaze before demanding, "_Why was I never informed that there was an heir to the throne?"_

"Because he's not the heir," she retorted. "He will _never_ be the heir, will never be involved with the Weiss Ritter so long as I live. Why were you never informed? Because it was the one and only request I made to my husband, to keep Leopold's existence a secret from everyone so that he wouldn't become a target. So that he could lead as normal a life I can give him, so I won't have to witness the death of my child. That's why he never told you. Now let me go."

But he didn't and the questions began to rain down on her like the storm outside, pelting her like hail and burning her like acid rain. Maybe it was because he was trying to be insensitive, or maybe, _probably_, it was because he just didn't understand the love one had for one's child, but he began grilling her, asking questions of all kinds, of all manners, each one grating on her nerves until she couldn't take it anymore. She just couldn't take all of these questions anymore, why did he have so many questions, why couldn't he just act as if he didn't care, just as he had acted towards her before? Why couldn't he just let her go? Why did he have to hold onto her?

"What else is he hiding from m—"

"Leopold is all I have, Lelouch. He's all I have, he… _He's the only reason why I'm still here_. He's the only reason why I never ended my life all of those years ago, he is my one and only solace, and now… Now his life is in danger. Because of me. _Me_, his _mother_. My son, who has done no harm to anyone or anything his entire life, has his life threatened because of me. So that's why… That's why, I beg of you, just leave me alone. Please. _I beg of you."_

She looked up at him, beseeching him to let her go. Whether it be out of pity or respect, it didn't matter to her, she didn't care, so long as she was left alone so that she could think of her son, pray for her child, who had no fault and yet was being punished for her decisions, for her actions…

What kind of a mother was she, to endanger her progeny?

"… You're not happy with your life."

She stiffened at his suggestion. "I am quite at peace with—"

"It wasn't a question."

The silence that had seeped into the cold atmosphere shattered as his sigh twisted into a cruel bark of laughter.

"The least you could do, Cecaniah, after everything you did to me is pretend that you're happy with the life you chose. At least pretend that you enjoy your hair appointments and champagne in front of me. Because if you don't, what does that make me? _What does that make me?_ Me, who had nothing but you and then was left with nothing in the end when you deserted me. With _less_ than nothing, with a broken heart. What does that make me if you don't like the path you settled for?"

"Although I suppose I was the fool, since I had thought that we would be together until the very end. Since I hadn't known any better and had believed that my being penniless wouldn't matter to you. But then again, I suppose that's why you left me in the first place," he muttered bitterly.

"It's quite awe-inspiring, how blind I was back then. Wouldn't matter to you? Of course it would matter to you. After all, money was all you'd known in your life, with your private jets, your mansions, and your optimism. Whenever I look back at that time in my life, I often wonder why I never worked harder, why I never struggled more despite the fact that my efforts were futile and were unable to change my status in society. I wonder why I didn't try a little harder, why I didn't reach a little more than the limit, and what would have happened if I had."

"But then I realized that I didn't chase after money because I knew it wouldn't buy me happiness. At least, not true happiness. And how did I know this? Because I knew what happiness was. Because you were by my side."

C.C. was starting to find seeing increasingly difficult as tears began to well up.

"Because I had you… Because we were in love, I didn't care that I was impoverished. I didn't care that I went hungry more nights than not, I didn't care about _any_ of that because _you were enough for me_. Because you were all I cared about."

"L… Lelou—" He flung her towards the bed, pinning her down painfully as he leaned over her. She looked up at him, the sharp, angry angles of his face blurring together from her tears and into a furious mess. "No. No, you just listen to me. I don't want to hear your excuses, I don't want to hear your stories, I just want you to listen to what I have to say for once."

"L… Lelouch… It hurts…" she mewled. "It hurts…"

He seemed to realize what he was doing to her, holding her down by her wrists in such a vice-like grip, it'd have been easy to think that he was trying to break her wrists, and then he finally noticed how her tears was from the pain and suffering he was causing her, and… And…

His hard mask suddenly shattered, his grip loosened, and his words and face no longer matched. His words had been rough, coarse with resentment, while his expression was one of heartbreak and sorrow, as if he was on the verge of crying just as she was.

Wrong.

He _was_ crying, he wasn't on the verge, he actually was crying now, he…

Oh Lelouch…

His voice breaking, he asked hoarsely: "What was it, Ceci? What was it that you didn't like? What was it that repulsed you, that drove you away from me? Was it how poor I was? Or was it something more, was there something else? Why.. why did you leave, why… We… We had promised each other, hadn't we? We'd promised to be together, hadn't we? _We loved each other, didn't we?"_

She only closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, feeling his tears slide down her cheek and mingle with her own. She was afraid, afraid that, if she were to speak out, that if she were to answer, she would betray everything she had for. She wouldn't answer him. _Couldn't _answer him. Because as much as it killed her, even if her tears finally spilled over, telling him would only mean admitting to him how much she still loved him, and she couldn't let that happen, she… She just couldn't. Opening her eyes, she concentrated on a tear traveling down the edge of his jaw as she throatily said, "It… It was necessary, Lelouch, it—"

"But it's not what you wanted," he snapped. His voice softening, he repeated, "It's not what _you_ wanted, is it, Ceci?"

Oh… She looked away, desperate for something to focus on, something to draw her attention away from him and the bleeding of her heart. She had to stop crying, she had to… She had to walk away from him just as she had walked away from him four years ago. She had done it before, she could do it again. She _had_ to, it was for his own good, for his sake, it… It…

Oh God.

She couldn't do it. She just couldn't do it anymore, it was suddenly too much for her to handle as he leaned over her, looking at her with those eyes of his, begging her to let him understand why his heart had been ripped out, why she had smiled and laughed with him, had kissed him, had agreed to marry him and be with him forever, had _promised_ to be with him forever, before abandoning him. She had born the weight of her decision, the _guilt_ of her decision for all this time, and now, it was just too much for her to endure any longer. Just too much.

"Ceci, why—"

"He was going to kill you." Covering her eyes with trembling hands as if it would stop the tears rolling down her cheeks, she choked out, "He was going to kill you, Lelouch. What else was I supposed to do? What else could I have done? Let him kill you? Let you die?"

She couldn't even see anymore she was crying so hard, but she paid her tears no mind. She paid them no mind as she struggled to tell him through her sobbing how Schneizel had approached her, offering to forgive her father's debt to the Weiss Ritter if she married him, how she had declined his proposal, saying that she would rather be with him, Lelouch, even if it meant living the rest of her life carrying the burden of debt, and how the Mafioso had threatened to have him killed if she didn't agree, how she had given herself to Schneizel so that, he the love of her life, could live, and that was why they couldn't be together, so please, couldn't he just act as if nothing had happened and—

He kissed her.

C.C. tried to break away but it wasn't even much of a fight, what with how weak her knees and how soft his lips were.

"Please don't do this, Lelouch. Please don't. There's no possible way that this could end well, Schneizel, he… He'll…"

"I don't give a damn what Schneizel will do. I couldn't care less about him, all I care about is _you_, not him. It's always been that way, and it's never changed. _Never_."

"Lelou—"

"But… But if you love him… If you sincerely love him, then I'll forget. If you can look me in the eyes and tell me love you Schneizel, and that I don't matter to you anymore, then I'll forget everything. I'll walk away and I'll never bring it up again. If you truly love him."

That was the way it was supposed to be, with neither of them remembering that peaceful time, or, even if they did remember, they weren't supposed to bring it up in conversation or action. She knew it, and she knew that the right thing to do would be to look into his eyes and say that she loved Schneizel and that she no longer cared about him, but she was so tired of lying. She was so tired of lying about her feelings, tired of lying to him, of lying to herself, but more importantly… More importantly, she wanted to be with him. She didn't want to stand by and watch him be with other women, _she_ wanted to be his woman. She wanted to love him, and she wanted to be loved by him. That was what she wanted, to not be without him, the love of her life.

She broke down completely. The last of her walls crumbled as she pulled him down, as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, she shed a tear for every time she had felt lonely, for every time she had missed him, had made a death wish upon herself. Had cursed herself. Had yearned for him. She cried, and cried, and cried, as he wrapped his arms around her tightly and said, "I'm not letting you go, Ceci. I've been through too much to let that happen. I love you too much to let that happen."

And then his lips were on hers again and wouldn't leave her, not that she minded because God, she wanted him so badly. She hadn't known she had, or perhaps she had always known but denied to herself that she wanted him this way, but whichever one was the truth, it all came down to how much she wanted to kiss him, which was simply overwhelming as he ardently kissed her. As he kissed her, and she kissed him back, C.C. finally gave in and allowed the longing she had caged up inside of her to be free, to be released as she was reborn as a new woman, as _his_ woman.

It wasn't until she felt him lay her head down on a pillow when her eyes fluttered upon. She looked up at the raven-haired man leaning over her and into his eyes, meeting the gaze that was burning with nothing but love and hunger, a hunger, she realized, for her, a need to have her, and immediately, somewhere inside of her knew that he was but a simple reflection of her own emotions, of her own desires. She reached for him.

He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as he whispered her name, gently nipping her ear as he told her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her. How much he loved her. And she drew him closer, winding her arms around his neck. Something scorching, searing lust, erupted in the pit of her stomach as she listened to his murmurs, as his hand drifted down to the button of her pants, and only grew hotter and hotter as he drugged her with slow, heavy kisses that left a buzzing in her ears and a pleasant blankness in her mind, a blankness that let her ignore everything, ignore the past, the future, and the pain that they held, and focus solely on the present and the pleasure it was offering her. On the pleasure _he_ was offering her.

Her fingers fluttered to the hem of his dark jumper, fiddling with the soft fabric before slipping underneath. Her touch ghosting over his broad back, she felt his lips curl up into a smirk against her slender neck and knew that he understood what she was trying to tell him, what she wanted him to do. And before he could do anything, her hands returned to the hem of his sweater before tearing it off of him. Tossing it aside, her eyes ran up and down his bare chest. God, he had gotten so lean over the years, having packed on muscle… Seeing him like this, especially with his mouth on her neck and his hand up her sweater, made C.C. want more. She wanted more, she wanted to drive him crazy with desire for her, she wanted to completely devour him, wanted to keep him all to herself.

She wanted to mark him as her own, make him hers, and she was going to do just that.

Pushing him over until he was on his back and she was straddling him, she stripped herself of her sweater before bending down and pinning his wrists above his head. Tracing his jaw with her soft lips, she made her way down to his neck at a tantalizing pace. When she found his excited pulse, she suckled while listening to his moans. He was completely arrested by the ministrations of her roguish tongue, and it pleased her to discover that she hadn't yet forgotten his sweet spots, hadn't yet forgotten the body of Lelouch Lamperouge. He clenched his hands as he groaned, his fists tightening even more when her hand wandered down to the growing bulge in his crotch.

When she unzipped his pants and took hold of his shaft after kissing her way down his chest and stomach, his hands flew up to grip the iron headboard, his breathing become uneven and harsh as she played with him, teased him, pumped her hand up and down. The sound of his heightening arousal, the scent, the _sight_ of his libido, of his pleasure, filled her with glee. Glee for the way his hips were bucking, for his moans. Glee for the way he seemed to melt at her slightest touch. It felt so thrilling, so powerful to have the upper hand. For once, she was in control. For once, _she_ would pleasure _him_.

Lelouch dug his nails into his palm when he felt her moist tongue curiously nudge the head of his erection before taking him in. He nearly lost it; his breath hitched, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he closed his eyes as her throat constricted around his length, Ceci's warm _tight_ throat, and fire erupted in the pit of his stomach. He grunted. He was going to pass out… He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this high, had felt this good, and it was driving him crazy, making his head spin as she took him in again, and again, and again, her tongue swirling around him, tormenting him with pleasure, her hand massaging the firm skin of his sac as she… Oh, fuck. Fuck, that felt good… She was clearly playing with him, leading him farther and farther away from sanity and closer and closer to the abyss of ecstasy, and he willingly followed, even going as far as chasing after her, as the want to feel more and more grew with each passing second, with each squeeze of the hand, with each flick of the tongue.

He watched her with hooded eyes, her hair swept over her bare back as she trailed her tongue up his length before sucking on the tip. God, she was so hot… He was panting now, his hips moving on their own accord, as his moans grew louder and louder until they could undoubtedly be heard from every room in the apartment. But what did he care? They were alone. And so what if someone heard him? What did he care, he was so close, so fucking _close_, the muscles in his stomach were contracting and relaxing in a frenzy as rapture and lust ravaged his head of every coherent thought, of the very ability to think, and cleared his head of everything and anything save for the singular word of _more_.

And then he arched his back, holding her head down and gasping his lover's name as he came within the snug cavities of her mouth. C.C., taken by surprise, swallowed, drinking in his bitterness. Pulling away, she coughed before crudely wiping her mouth. She was such a disgrace as his thick seed traveled down her throat, so vulgar and uncouth, absolutely nothing like the mirage of elegance she usually put on in front of others. But the dampness of her panties told her that she couldn't care less what she looked like at the moment, that this man in front of her could and probably was planning on making her look even more scandalous than now and that she was eager to see what he would do to her, how good he could make her feel…

"Ceci."

She looked up at the sound of his rough voice and glimpsed his flushed cheeks before he closed the space between their lips. He pulled her up, the hungry kiss never once breaking, and their tongues continued to dance, exploring each other as they both grappled for dominance. He flipped her over so that she was lying on her back, and he pinned her down. As he rubbed his knee against her panties, creating enough friction to turn her panties a complete sopping mess, the realization that the man could probably taste himself dawned on her. C.C. moaned into the steamy kiss. It was making her feel so hot, making her want him more, and oh God, how did he… She wound her arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him in closer.

Their breathing was harsh when they broke apart, their passion harsher still as they studied each other. Lelouch could guess how disheveled he looked as he memorized her face, and she could probably feel how hard he was, and he wasn't thinking straight, but honestly? He just didn't fucking give a shit. All he cared about was right here, lying underneath him with her gloriously tousled hair and hooded eyes, and he refused to let anything else take priority over satisfying the hunger for her that was consuming him. No self-restraint, no moderation, no nothing. Just him, her, and their lust, their primitive desire for each other.

His lips brushed her collarbone before making his way south, his tongue sending shivers down her spine. C.C. tried her best to keep quiet, to bar her voice from speaking out, but when his teeth delicately clamped around her nipple, she lost all willpower. Slowly, she wove her fingers through his silky hair, gently tugging on the strands as she curved her chest into his warm mouth, as he made her breathless just as she had done to him.

"Oh, Lelouch…"

Without a doubt, he was enjoying himself as he took the reins, controlled the pace and made _her_ the moaning mess. The daredevil even went as far as languidly running his tongue over the scar below her breast, sending a strange mixture of excitement and shock that left her feeling lightheaded. It was _intoxicating_ the way he touched her. How long had it been since she had been pampered like this? Far too long, far, far, _far_ too long for a married woman. Schneizel knew nothing about her, absolutely _nothing_ about her body. He didn't care enough to learn and thus would never bother exploring and mapping out her body, but Lelouch… Oh, he had done that _years_ ago, had memorized her body so well, he knew the exact thing to do at the exact time in order to elicit wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure with that sly, quick tongue of his, those cunning, lithe fingers. With Lelouch, it was pleasure. It was all about pleasure. It had never been like that with Schneizel; on the contrary, it had always been obligation and necessity with him, but with Lelouch… Oh, God, with Lelouch, it was a completely different world, a world of ecstasy and euphoria, a world that she never wanted to leave.

C.C. clenched the rumpled sheets underneath her in anticipation as he lowered himself so that he was kneeling in front of her tightly crossed legs. Gently prying them apart, he took her shorts off, and then her black pantyhose, and was about to take the last layer off, when he stopped. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she made to cover herself when he grabbed her wrists and pulled them away to drink in the full sight of her black lace thong.

"I see," he purred as he ran a finger down the fabric. "that someone has been up to no good and has turned considerably naughty…"

She averted his piercing gaze, her cheeks flushing an even deeper pink, and heard his low chuckles as he stepped out of his pants and briefs before the thong was thrown aside to join the rest of the clothing that had been haphazardly strewn all over the floor of the bedroom, leaving C.C. completely free of any covering. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest; oh God, this was so embarrassing… Her body was no longer the way it had once been and it would be foolish to say that he wouldn't notice. But he made no comment on the changes and merely crouched down in front of her spread open legs. She wondered what he thought of the changes of her body, of whether he had noticed or not, when all thoughts were chased away the second she felt him caressing her smooth, creamy thigh, running his hand up and down as he kissed a trail up the other. She sighed. His lips were so soft, his touch so gentle, and it was so—

She gasped as he suddenly slipped a finger within her folds.

Electricity shot through her as one, then two, more fingers joined the first. She threw her head back, crashing into the pillow as he stretched her before plunging his fingers into her. Oh _God, that felt good… Oh God, that… Oh!_ Oh, he felt so good, he felt like heaven, oh God… Oh Lelouch… His mouth was back on her nipple, his fingers were hitting her G-spot with every flick, and he was rubbing her clitoris and—! Her entire frame was trembling with excitement and arousal as he fingered her, and— Oh God, she was so close to coming, just a little more and…

But then the rapturous sensation vanished, leaving her forlorn and panicked. What… Why…?

Her eyes widened when she saw what he was doing because what he was doing was licking and sucking his fingers. Fingers coated in her juice. Mesmerized, she couldn't tear her eyes off of him as she watched his tongue run up his middle finger, as he took extra care not to miss a single drop all the while making sure to keep his glimmering eyes locked with hers to tell her just how deliciously erotic she tasted. He smirked, catching sight of her startled expression. She had no clue, did she? She had no idea on how much he was going to mess her up, how much he was going to rattle her and turn her world upside down with lust, how he was going to make her go crazy for him. Oh, was he going to have fun with this…

"Lelou—" C.C. inhaled sharply when she felt his warm tongue run over her wet slit. Her eyes fluttered close as he pleasured her. How was she rendered so powerless, so weak at his touch? How, as he lapped at her glistening folds, did he make her head spin like this? As his lips closed around the swollen bud above her entrance, her hands flew to his head, telling him that she wanted him to keep going no matter what, but it wasn't until his tongue probed into her when the moans began. She could feel them, the whimpers, the sighs, traveling up her throat and this time, she made no effort to stop them. Let him hear, they whispered. Let him hear your satisfaction, your pleasure.

She let him hear.

But oh God, his tongue was moving so quickly now, darting inside and lapping at her with such urgency, and her hips were rocking in time with him, and his hands were lightly squeezing her breasts, toying with the nipples, and oh, she felt herself being pushed closer and closer to the edge, and he wasn't stopping, oh, he wasn't stopping and she was positively shuddering in pleasure, it—

C.C. let out a soft scream as she came. _God, it felt so incredible, the ecstasy was almost unbearable, it_— Oh, God! It was going to drive her insane this hazy cocoon of beautiful pleasure wrapping around her… She gasped for breath, her stomach convulsing in satisfaction, but he denied her any rest. There was no time to waste, he wouldn't endure any longer. _Couldn't_ endure any longer.

"Ceci…" he murmured in between kisses up her abdomen. "Ceci, I want you… I _need_ you, Ceci… So much…"

She wrapped her legs around his waist as if to say that she felt the same as he leaned over her. His warm breath tickling her, she kissed his cheek as she reached for his cock. Excitement pulsed through her as she wrapped her fingers around his hard length, reveling in the fact that _she_ had made him this way, that _she_ had made him want her this much, had turned him on like this, had made him this hot and bothered. It was throbbing, twitching in anticipation, and she gave it a slight squeeze, delighted to see him shudder. A solitary finger ran up the length of his erection and he hissed with impatience. She smiled and gave him another light kiss on the cheek as a reward for his restraint. His body hadn't really changed, had it? He might have become more fit but he was still as honest and as restless as he had always been… Maybe even more so today.

"C… Ceci… Ceci, I…"

"Sh…"

He scowled, frustrated with pent-up lust, and, feeling sorry for teasing him so aggressively, she nuzzled his neck, kissing his sharp jaw, before letting the head sink in past her flaring lips.

His eyes snapped shut as ecstasy possessed him. _Fuck, it was only the tip but she was so wet, fucking _soaked_, and so tight, she was just so goddamn tight and it had been so long since he had done this, and it just… _Fuck_, that felt good…_

He pushed his way in and groaned, nearly coming from the tight sheath. _Oh _fuck_, that felt good… Fuck, that felt so good…_

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, whimpering, as he began to move. He could feel her hot breath on his neck as she cried out with each thrust of his hips, crying out how aroused she was, how much she wanted him, how he was making her feel so good, and he wanted more. More, more, more, more, _more_, he wanted more of her screams, he wanted her to writhe underneath him in ecstasy, he wanted her to gasp his name every time he drove into her, he wanted more of _her_. And if he wanted more of her, he was going to get more of her. He refused to let anything get in his way, nothing was going to stop him. He refused to allow it.

Lacing their fingers together, Lelouch bent down and kissed her, swallowing her moans as he continued to indulge roughly in both his and her desires. She was so tight, so warm and moist, clenching around him and refusing to let him go… The only sounds were the sounds of their bodies moving in rhythm together, of their moans and sighs, and it pleased him. It pleased him immensely, beyond reason, because she felt so damn _good, so fucking good…_

C.C. shivered. His hips were moving so quickly, the pace was so fast, so urgent and intense, and she could feel herself tightening around him every time he pounded into her, could feel him growing harder and bigger, and she could hear his rasping breaths join her own uneven gasping, and oh God… Oh God!

"Oh, Lelouch…"

"You like that?" His voice was thick with passion and lust as he smirked. "You like that, don't you, Ceci? You like how I can make you feel this way, _don't you?"_

"Ahhhhh, Lelouch, I… Oooooh… Ooooh, you feel so good, you… You feel so… So… Good…"

Satisfied with her reply, he shifted his weight backwards, sitting down and pulling her up into his lap, apparently bored with the way their bodies had been tangled together. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she shut her eyes tight as she sank down on him. Oh, God, he was so hard. He was so hard as their hips ground together, not to mention how he was throbbing, and… Oh God. Their lips crashed together in a hungry kiss, his fingers tangling themselves in her long hair. And then his hand was around her breast, toying with the erect nipple, his tongue trailing up her arching neck, and oh God, he wasn't close enough, was never close enough, it was never enough for her, never, ever, ever, she just wanted _more_. That was all that mattered. _More_, more pleasure, more sex, just _more… _More of everything, more of him…

She could hear his growls joining her keening moans as she dug her nails into his broad back before they were silenced as their lips met again. His hands were on her rocking hips, guiding her, holding her in a vice grip, as he told her how good he felt, how turned on he was because of her, how she was the one and only woman for him, and his gaze was unwavering, and it was—

"Oh! Oh, my… Mmmmm… My God, ohmyGod, Lelouch… Lelouch, I— Ooooh… Oh God, I'm… Lelouch, I…"

She tightly wound her arms and legs around him as she came, leaving red crescent marks on his shoulders while biting his earlobe just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. It felt so good, _he_ felt so good, all she could see were a blinding white and all she could feel was him pouring himself into her. Oh God… Ooooh, that felt good… God, that felt good! She nearly passed out; she could feel his seed inside of her, burning hot, as he dug his nails into her hips and it was just so… Oh Lelouch… Lelouch, Lelouch, Lelouch!

Lelouch moaned, his face contorting as a long, drawn-out groan escaped him. _Ng, she felt good… Her walls were squeezing him so much, as if they were trying to draw out every last drop, and God, she felt so good… So, so, so, so, so, so, so, _so_ good… Oh God… So fucking good… So good!_

When the last wave of pleasure ebbed away, the couple fell down, both limp with exhaustion and both covered in a light film of sweat and cum. Their chests heaved in synchronization, and they struggled to catch their breaths. Lelouch buried his face into the pillow, displeased with himself. It had been fast. Much too fast for his liking, but what could he do? He hadn't felt such euphoria since before they had been torn apart, and consequently, his tolerance for bliss was low, his sensitivity high. There was nothing he could do… Not now, at least. Maybe later. But not now.

As he resigned to the limitations of his body, he could feel her shift underneath him, her tongue quietly licking the blood from his ear before kissing his earlobe and quietly asking, "When was the last time you had sex?" It wasn't a question of ridicule but rather one of honest curiosity, of wonderment, because she knew; she knew that he wasn't one to finish this quickly, wasn't one to tire so easily. But he had today. So what had happened during those four years? What had caused this change, she was undoubtedly thinking.

Lelouch would have smiled if he weren't so exhausted. She had let him in, had re-opened herself to him. He buried his nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling the smell of sweat and the musky scent of copulation that was in the air, that was everywhere, that was coming from him, from her, from the sheets, and simply lay still in her warm embrace with her hand running through his hair just as she had always done back then.

It was so peaceful here… As if they had never been split apart, as if tragedy had never struck them. In fact, it was almost… Almost as if they were in a bubble, protected from the world and its harsh reality. A bubble, huh? If only they could continue living on in this haven… If only there was some way they could go back to the way it had once been… But it couldn't, and he knew it, and so did she. So he answered her.

"The last time I slept with someone," he mumbled, "was that night… That was the last time."

Her fingers froze, and when he felt her tense beneath him, fear suddenly seized him. Was… Was she going to leave him now, just as she had done that night all of those years ago? Was he going to wake up again to find himself alone, was he going to find a letter and her engagement ring in the place where she should have been, with her beautiful smile and mischievous teasing? Was he going to have his heart broken all over again?

"… Why?" she whispered.

"Isn't the answer obvious?"

There was an unbearable silence, a silence that nurtured his fears, and he found an intolerable knot of anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. Moving off of her, he lay down besides her and, before she could slip away from him again, wound his arms around her.

"… Lelouch, we—"

"Sh… Don't say anything…"

"Lelouch—"

"Please, Ceci. _Please_."

Laying gentle kisses on her shoulder, he pleaded with her. "Just this once… Just this once, can't we act as if nothing happened that night?"

Their fingers laced together gently, naturally, as if their hands were meant to clasp the others, and she pressed their intertwined hands to her beating heart, as if to answer him. Soon enough, she heard his breathing turn slow and steady, and knew that he had fallen asleep having received her reply. As C.C. tightly clasped his hand, her lips curled up into a wry smile of bittersweet sorrow. She smiled at how Lelouch Lamperouge was in bed besides her. She smiled at the way he was holding on to her as if he were afraid to let go, afraid that she would vanish when he woke up again. And she smiled at the continuation of their charade, at the continuation of the game of pretend they had been playing, the game in which they acted as if nothing was wrong when, in reality, everything was wrong. For though it was a lie, it was a lie that would save both him and herself, and for the time being, it would be enough.

It would be enough.

"Do you know what day it is today, Mr. Lamperouge?"

Her question was met with a wall of silence.

"It's the seventeen-year anniversary of the day we met."

"… Happy anniversary, Lelouch."

"Happy anniversary… My love."

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**A/N: And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my true debut in the World of M. Please, please, _please_ review! Thank you.**


	7. Refrain

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

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Le Septième Chapitre: Refrain

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_ With trembling hands, she lay down the letter on her pillow and sat quiet still for some time, her dull amber eyes fixated on the emotionless envelope – inside were the words that would tear him apart. Inside were the words that would destroy the world as they knew it, the words that would end the happiest nine years of her life. It had been so difficult to write them, having to wait for him to leave for work, acting as if nothing was wrong when really everything was wrong, having to start over countless times because her tears would fall onto the paper if her handwriting wasn't shaky. And sometimes she would just break down completely and bury her head in her arms, pulling her knees up close to her chest and gently rocking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to stop sobbing. How many sheets of paper had she thrown away as she tried to form the right words, the right sentences?_

_ And how many tears had she shed while writing those right words and right sentences?_

_ But now, as she sat here on the edge of the bed, nervously picking at her nails, she realized that the letter was the easy part, that the letter was nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – compared to what was to come. Which was leaving the ring behind. The ring, the symbol of their promise and of their love, of the future they had dreamed of, the very same future which had been ruthlessly and violently murdered._

_ C.C. bit her lip just hard enough so that it almost bled. She couldn't cry. She wouldn't cry, it would be selfish of her to cry right now. She was the one leaving after all, she was the one sneaking away while his back was turned. He would be the one feeling the brunt of the pain and heartache, not her. It wouldn't be fair to cry and dwell on how pitiful she was when she was a coward for abandoning him like this._

_ Slowly releasing a shuddery breath, she calmed herself down enough to slip the ring off and let it fall. It landed with a finalizing thud on the envelope. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, it— No. No, it wasn't the most beautiful, it was the second, the first being… The first being him. The first being him standing in the entryway as he returned from work, the first being the sight of him sitting on the loveseat, leaning on the arm and nodding off, already half-asleep. The first being his drowsy smile as she shook him awake before leading him to bed where he'd be able to have a much better chance of getting much better sleep, his faint smile as he buried his face into the crook of her neck so that his gentle breath tickled her as he mumbled if she had had a good day at work._

_ Her hand flew to her mouth as she desperately tried to muffle her grief. It was killing her. She knew how devastated he would be, how heartbroken, and it was killing her that she was the source of his pain. Sinking her teeth into her finger, she doubled over as she fought to control her tears. She couldn't wake him no matter what. He'd open his eyes, ask her what time it was and if he would be late to work, only to see her all dressed up and her bags by the door. He'd frown, the familiar crinkle appearing between his brows as he asked her what was going on. And she couldn't tell him, she couldn't wake him. She couldn't. Not only because the first of her new husband-to-be's instructions had been to quietly and quickly leave the apartment without arousing his or anyone else's suspicions, but also because if he were to wake up and see her, if he were to wake up and she were to hear his voice again and feel his touch again, everything would collapse. Her resolve to trade her life to save his, the deal with Schneizel, everything would collapse within itself. All salvation would slip from their fingers like smoke until the Weiss Ritter would descend upon them to play and toy with their lives as a cruel god would._

_ "I'm sorry, Lelouch," she choked. "I'm so sorry, my love."_

_ Leaning down, she kissed him for as long as she dared before pulling away for what she thought would be the last time. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand briskly, and gently brushed away her tear that had fallen onto his face and that had been rolling down his cheek, as if he were crying too, before rising and leaving the love of her life._

. . .

Lelouch could feel it before he even opened his eyes. Lying there in bed with the soft morning light filtering in through the gauze windows and caressing his cheek, something inside of him just knew. Something inside of him told him that she was gone, that she had slipped away in the dead of the night again. He didn't even dare breathing as he desperately grasped for the quickly evaporating sense of security and comfort that had been enshrouding him. It was fading all too fast, all too soon – he had just found some peace after so long a war… How could it be stolen away from him so soon?

He didn't want to open his eyes. He refused to because he knew that the moment he did, the full force of excruciating heartache was set in and that he wouldn't be allowed to pretend that the spaces besides him wasn't cold and untouched. He wouldn't be allowed to pretend that she was just asleep, that she was still there next to him, with him. He knew the truth. He knew it all too well but there was just something in him that rejected the cold hard facts, that didn't want to believe it and be forced to bear more pain. So that was why, even though he knew it was futile, he called out to her.

"Ceci."

Silence.

"… Ceci."

Dread washed over him and he felt the lump in his throat growing larger as he tried a third time in vain hope.

"Cecaniah."

There was no answer. Reality hit him like a wall of concrete, and a low, bitter chuckle escaped him. She was gone. Of course she was gone. Why had he ever thought that she would stay? What had possessed him to entertain the possibility of her remaining by his side? He could just see her, lying awake with her eyes glimmering softly in the dark as she waited for him to fall asleep. And once he had, she had probably pried herself free from his arms and gotten up. She'd have gotten dressed again, or maybe taken a shower to cleanse herself of… Of whatever resentment and disgust she harbored towards him before walking away, just as she had done before.

It was only early morning and here he was, already trying to resist the overwhelming impulse to cry. It wasn't really that she was gone, it was just that… It was just that she didn't think that there was any hope for them in the future, that she had completely wrapped up all of her feelings and had moved on, unlike him, he who was forever looking over his shoulder and back to the past.

Lelouch tried to swallow despite the lump in his throat. All he wanted was just a little bit of happiness, even if it was the delusional kind. But Ceci had stolen away again and there was nothing more he could do. He had done all he could. He had told her, confessed to her, _begged_ her and still, she hadn't stayed. He hadn't been able to sway her even though he had offered her himself to her. And if she refused even that, what else could he do? What else could he give her? There was simply nothing left, nothing more that he could do. It was all gone. All hope, all happiness.

Every single bit gone.

So when he finally did open his eyes and saw an ageless gold, he inhaled sharply.

"C… Ceci."

"… Lelouch."

They stared at one another. Lelouch tried to swallow his surprise. So… So she hadn't left? She… She hadn't…

She was still by his side.

He wanted to reach out and touch her, brush her hair away from her eyes, make sure that the woman in front of him was real and wasn't his imagination acting up like it had done countless times before. But then she said his name and he knew that she wasn't a mirage, that she really was there, and that he wasn't making it up and it—

"Lelouch, I want for us to forget what happened."

… So close and yet so far. He would have smiled bitterly if he would have been able to muster up the emotion to. But he was consumed with irritation, leaving no room for incredulity. He had thought… How had he dared to think that… He… What a fool he was. What a goddamn idiot, a complete and utter _fool_.

"I want for us to forget what happened. It would be in our best interest for the both of us if we view last night as closure for our past. I'm sure that you can see the logic in this and—"

He suddenly felt angry. Forget what happened? Closure? What— No. _No!_ No, it wasn't closure that he wanted, he hadn't said those things to her last night just for her to ignore them. And he was pretty fucking sure it wasn't what she wanted either – the voice she was talking to him with, it sounded so dead, so emotionless. Absolutely nothing like the lively and mischievous girl she was and— Forget? _Closure?_ What the _fuck? _Why the fuck was she being so submissive to her fate, to Schneizel, _why was she letting go of what she wanted?_ He had seen it in her eyes yesterday, he had seen it all in her tears, and had tasted it on her tongue. He knew what it was that she truly desired and it _wasn't closure, it wasn't forgetting, it was to be with him_. He knew it was true – he had seen the proof.

"And you have to realize that it would never—"

"Is that what you want or is it what Schneizel wants?"

She quieted down as he repeated, "Is forgetting what you want or is it what the Weiss König wants?"

"Lelouch, he—"

"If it's not what you want, then I—"

"You don't understand," she interrupted sharply. Her tone softening, she whispered, "You don't understand, Lelouch." A shadow was cast over her face, making the young woman appear so much more older than she really was. Sighing, she mumbled, "You don't understand."

C.C. turned away from him, loathing to make eye contact with him. Because he really didn't. He didn't understand the dynamics of her relationship with her husband, he _couldn't_ understand. He may think he could but the truth of the matter was, he wouldn't be able to no matter what she told him, couldn't understand her reasoning for all of her decisions.

"Then make me understand. Tell me – what do I not understand?"

She blinked at the ceiling and he gently pressed his warm palm on her cheek. As he gently rubbed the pad of his thumb, she could feel his breath lightly tickle her ear as he murmured, "Ceci, tell me so that I can understand."

Some time passed before she spoke.

"… I don't know why Schneizel assigned you to protect me when he knows about our history. But I know why he would even consider allowing it."

She paused, and he patiently waited for her to compose herself, to string her letters together to form the words that would reveal to him what was burdening her.

"The one thing he absolutely despises is disloyalty. You probably know that, Lelouch. That the one thing Schneizel hates most in the world is betrayal. And he knows that I'll be faithful because his promise still stands to this day. Lelouch, if I leave him for you…" She took his hand, leaning her cheek into his palm. "If I choose you over him… He'll have you killed. He'll kill you. That's why we can't do this. It was always why we can't."

She pulled his hand away and pressed it to his bare chest. "I'm sorry, Lelouch."

C.C. made to sit up, to walk away and leave, when she heard him say, "I don't give a damn about Schneizel's threats and neither should you."

She looked at him as he continued. "If Schneizel were to be stripped of his position in the Weiss Ritter, Ceci, it would be a level playing field. He doesn't have any true power, only statu—"

"But that will never happen, Lelouch, it will never be a level-playing field. Schneizel will forevermore be your superior and—"

"Do you truly believe that?"

A strange feeling washed over the emerald-haired woman at his words. "Do you truly believe that, Ceci?"

What was he saying? Schneizel would always be the Weiss König; he founded the Weiss Ritter. Only Death would be able to loosen her husband's vice grip on the throne. What was Lelouch planning?

"I know you think you made a mistake by sleeping with me. I know you think that I can't understand and that what you're doing is for the best, but— Ceci. Ceci, look at me. Look at me, love."

He gently turned her head towards him so that she had no other choice but to meet his gaze. She swallowed as he brought her closer.

"Ceci, what if it's not what I want? What if it's not what _you_ want?"

"Just for a second, think only of yourself. Think only of your heart. What is your heart telling you? To stay with Schneizel, or to come to me? My love, there's no need to worry over my life. Do as you please, as your heart wishes. If it's telling you to return to Schneizel, then… I told you last night, didn't I? If you truly wish to remain by Schneizel's side, then I won't stop you, so long as it's what you want."

She looked up at him. He was watching her with those eyes of his, those warm amethysts that told her that he meant every word, that he was being completely honest with her. That he loved her and only wanted for her to be happy. It tore her in two; she wanted to be with him. She really did. She had _always_ wanted to be with him, she had wanted to be with him for a good 16 years. But she didn't want him to die either, especially because of her.

C.C. pushed away. He let her go, understanding that she wanted some time to think, some time to figure out what decision to make. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered. It was cold but she couldn't stay in bed with him any longer. It was suffocating her, and she wanted out, wanted some time to be alone. Suddenly it was too much to be there, in bed with him; the confusion was just too overwhelming, it was choking her and… And…

She felt his hands light press down on her as he draped his dress shirt over her shoulders. He said nothing, as did she, and soon enough, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and left the room. But where to go? What to do? She was trapped here, in this tiny cage. Though safe from harm, she had nothing to amuse herself with, nothing to distract her from the fear that was embedded within her heart and to focus on her wishes.

Maybe they could go out. Yes, that was it, the outdoors was the solution. Outside looked so cool, with its clear, cerulean sky and vibrantly colored maple oaks. And the air would be so much more crisp too, and fresh, which would be a nice change since it had gotten so stuffy in the apartment for some reason the moment Lelouch had… The moment he had looked at her that way.

Besides. It would be nice for him too, she decided, refusing to allow her idea to be shot down. He had been trapped indoors because of her, inside of this musty and tiny shoebox, and they could both use a change of scenery. She knew she did.

But when she walked back into the bedroom, all thoughts of the refreshing autumn air vanished were replaced with horror. For there, on the floor, lay Lelouch as if he were a crumpled and forgotten paper doll.

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**A/N: Yes, I know this is so little for the two, three months I was out, and yes, I know it's incredibly out of character and shitty for two, three months, but you guys, I'm not feeling so good these days – I've been losing friends faster than an American can chow down a hamburger and my mind's been consumed with thoughts of the future and college and it's just an incredible emotional mess, and on top of that, I'm doubting myself and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for every crappy thing I've said and done, and I apologize for this crap chapter. I promise the next one will be better. And I know this is incredibly selfish of me, but if you don't have anything nice to say about this, please just don't say anything. I'm not really in the state to brush it off like it's nothing. Thank you.**


	8. For People Like Reviewer

Lelouch opened his eyes to see C.C. laying in bed besides him.

"Oh good, you're awake," she said. "I was thinking for a while, and I've decided something."

Head pounding, he grimaced but asked all the same what she had decided. She turned onto her side so that she was facing him. With a smile on her lips, she said, "Lelouch, let's run away."

"Run away?"

"I don't want to be with Schneizel. I want to be with you, Lelouch. And the only way we can be together is to run away. So let's."

"What about your son, Leopold?"

"Leopold has Sayoko and Jeremiah to take care of him, he'll be fine. He'll be fine. He's young, he has his whole life ahead of him. Me, I've wasted a third of it not being with you."

"Schneizel is the kingpin of the underworld, Ceci, he's the most powerful man in organized crime, it would be impossible to hide from—"

"Not impossible. Difficult, yes, but not impossible."

He stared at her before asking, "You really want to run away?"

"We'll fake our deaths and lay low until Schneizel gives up. Then we can have the happily ever after we always dreamed of."

"Well… It'll be hard, but…" He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "But okay. Let's run away."

Excited, she hugged him. "Oh Lelouch, now we can be together like we always wanted!"

He smiled, wrapping his arms around her. "Just like we always wanted. Let's be together forever, Ceci."

"Forever?"

"Until time stops."

**AFTERMATH**

Shirley Fenette was eventually hospitalized due to several nervous breakdowns. To the end of her days, she would wake up in the middle of the night, sobbing about a man named Lelouch, begging him to stay.

The Hóng Hè eventually fell to the Weiss Ritter, who grew until 75% of the world's crime was caused by them.

Leopold el Britannia, heartbroken and abandoned, was murdered at the age of 5 by one of the Weiss Ritter who attempted a coup d'état.

Lelouch vi Britannia died three months after reuniting with C.C. and two months after running away from the Weiss Ritter. His cause of death was poisoning by the Hóng Hè.

Cecaniah Corabelle committed suicide after the passing of her lover when her husband and the Weiss Ritter, who had discovered them, were closing in.

Schneizel el Britannia took on a mistress as mafia politics mandated. He searched for his wife, and found her, but before he could take her back, she committed suicide. For all of the misdeeds and murder he had done, he remained unpunished for the rest of his long life.

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**A/N: This was in no way the planned ending for _The Legacy_. There was probably going to be twenty or so more chapters, something like that, but after receiving complaint after complaint after complaint, I decided that this would probably please most of you. This delusional, unrealistic, miserable, meaningless ending, rather than the one that I had planned out. I don't know if I'll leave it like this or not. Maybe I'll continue writing it the way it was intended, and those of you who prefer this kind of story can stop here. But then again, maybe I'll stop here. After all, I only asked for one simple thing, which was to stay with me and that at the end, everything will make sense. But I guess it's not worth the wait.**


End file.
